Frenzy
by lawyermichonne
Summary: When someone hits Rick's son with a car and flees the scene, Rick needs a special kind of lawyer to help him find the culprit. Richonne.
1. Chapter 1: Means to an End

"It's just up ahead — right after that bend in the road," said Enid, glancing over at Carl before smiling down at the concrete, the freshly laid road salt crackling beneath her feet.

"Finally," he groaned sarcastically, readjusting the strap of her backpack and draping it over his left shoulder blade as opposed to carrying it in hand, "I was beginning to think you were leading me to the middle of nowhere."

The edges of his lips curled into a smile as he laughed, sending a plume of warm air swirling into the frosty night, hovering between them for but a moment before dissipating into a whisper.

Carl insisted upon walking Enid home after theatre rehearsal. Time was winding down before opening night, and practices were becoming progressively longer. In the dead of winter, leaving the school at six o'clock meant walking home in the dark. Naturally, Carl could always call on his father to come pick him up, and he would most likely be fine with giving Enid a ride home, but he preferred to walk her home on his own accord in an attempt to be the southern gentleman his mother often raved about (to his father given his lack of charm and chivalry which was supposedly "intrinsic in any man born beneath the Mason-Dixon line"). Despite only landing a minor role in this year's rendition of Pippin, he was just happy to be a part of something larger than himself. He couldn't quite explain it, but somewhere between the outlandish dialogue and the meticulously choreographed dance numbers, he found solace. Carl sought reprieve from his parents' constant bickering on the stage where conflict was a running thread that always managed to be summed up indefinitely by the final act. He didn't mind whether the story ended in turmoil or self actualization for the protagonist. At least it had an _end_. Sometimes Carl wanted an end for himself too.

"Thanks again for walking me home. You know you really didn't ha–"she began.

"I wanted to," he cut her off with a dimpled smile that sent her practically reeling as they neared her apartment complex.

Carl had to admit that he was surprised as he took in the scene. The apartment complex consisted of townhomes, cozy and quaint in all their modesty. They had previously trekked through what seemed to be a rather affluent area with fancy three-story homes with two driveways — like something out of those magazines his mom picked up at the checkout aisle. He assumed Enid was far wealthier than he'd initially imagined, and he was a little intimidated but now took comfort in knowing she didn't secretly view him as some sort of peasant.

They shuffled up the driveway in comfortable silence, both of them coming to a halt at her doorstep, communicating only through awkward glances and guttural speaking attempts.

"I uh," they both began simultaneously, but Carl shut up as he mentally chided himself with the mantra of 'ladies first'.

Enid just laughed.

"I just wanted to say thanks again for walking me home," she mumbled beneath her scarf. Carl couldn't tell if she was blushing or if Jack Frost had painted her cheeks that pretty shade of rouge.

"Hey, that's what friends are for," before he could get out the last syllable, Enid was embracing him in a bear hug, her warm breath present on his neck as he enjoyed the daze induced by her blossom scented shampoo. Unfortunately, it didn't last long enough as his olfactory senses were still clinging desperately to her scent when she pulled away. All he could do was grin and wave like an idiot as she bid him goodbye and quickly ran inside.

"Who knows, Enid. Maybe I'll stick around for a little while," he whispered under his breath to no one in particular before turning on his heels to head back to the school.

Carl walked briskly as he traversed the uneven sidewalk, feeling for the first time that evening just how cold it really was. Even though his fingers were on the brink of necrosis, he managed to pull out his cell phone and call his dad for a ride home. _*ring*, *ring*, 'your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system, please leave a message at the tone: *beep*'._ He tried again only to receive the same response. It was as if his dad was purposefully ignoring his calls. No matter, he figured. With the high he was feeling from that hug, he could walk twenty miles if he had to. As long as he would be able to see Enid again.

—

" _Oh jesus fuck_. Right there, Mike, _please_ ," panted Jessie Anderson, her head lolling backwards to expose more of her filthy, sweat slicked skin, the clear excretion mixing with the leftover gravel from being fucked on the decaying, parking lot asphalt just moments ago.

"That's right, bitch. Take it like the cumwhore you are. Milk daddy," Mike grunted as he grabbed a handful of Jessie's blonde hair, reveling in the fact that it was already matted with his semen. He pulled hard, applying just shy of enough force to snap her neck as he pounded his hips into hers, bruising her inner thighs and ensuring her inability to walk the following day. Jessie's frame quaked with pleasure, bringing her to the cusp of her fourth orgasm in a twenty minute time lapse as the arms propping her up on the hood of Mike's car threatened to collapse behind her. But she knew Mike wouldn't have it, because she wasn't a priority. His pleasure was the only thing that mattered. He'd fucked her lifeless body to achieve release on more than one occasion, often at the expense of her health.

He could never handle his fiancee this way. Jessie didn't know much about Michonne, but she knew she was a dignified woman both in the professional and personal realm — a real bitch. She was some kind of independent lawyer, so heaven knows she probably loves to argue. Mike complained about her all the damn time at work. Being his assistant, she was forced to listen to him drone on and on about their boring sex life and how she was a workaholic who never had time for him. What kind of woman wouldn't want to fulfill her wifely duties and get knocked up already? Jessie couldn't fathom the idea that such a woman existed, especially when it came to a _god_ like Mike. After lending her indentured ear day in and day out to his complaints, she finally decided to do something about it. Whoever this haughty "Michonne" character was, she was sure as hell missing out.

Mike's movements became spastic and hurried as he had a prior engagement to attend to. His only concern at this point was finishing and getting home in time for the dinner he'd scheduled with Michonne and her parents.

"Shit," he hissed loudly as his phone began vibrating on the car hood, his fiancee's beautiful face flashing across his phone screen.

"Speaking of the devil," Jessie scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Mike immediately became enraged at her disrespectful comment, pulling his hand back in one swift motion and striking her hard across the cheek, her pale skin flushing a penitent sanguine. He grabbed her cheeks in his hand and continued painfully grinding into her hips as he berated her. He let the call go.

"I'm going to tell you this one more time, Jessie, and I won't tell you again. Don't you ever speak about my fiancee that way. I will shatter every goddamn bone in your pretty little face if you so much as utter her name. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes…Mike," was all she could muster as tears began streaming down her cheeks, the satisfaction of watching her cry triggering Mike's sadistic release.

Mike carelessly shoved Jessie's naked form off the hood of his car before regaining his composure and accenting every inch of his self-serving frame with Giorgio Armani's Acqua Di Gio, Michonne's favorite cologne. He then bid Jessie goodbye with a salute before gliding into the sleek black mustang Michonne bought him for Christmas and sped out of the parking garage without a second thought.

"Siri, call Michonne," he demanded of his electronic, personal assistant.

"Calling Michonne," it echoed in response. He hummed softly as he listened tentatively to the dial sound, smiling when it was suddenly interrupted.

"Mike, hey," Michonne's voice was warm as it filled the car, the smile in her voice apparent.

"Hey, beautiful. You called?"

"Hm, I did. First, I wanted to know if you were on your way home given that the dinner is tonight. Second, I wanted to let you know that Mom and Pop ran into some car trouble on the road, so they'll be a little late, but that's nothing new," she laughed softly, her tone shifting as she continued, "And lastly, I just wanted to know how you're doing. You've been working so hard this past week, staying late for overtime, and we haven't had a lot of time to talk, you know? I miss that. I miss you."

"Well you'll be be happy to know that I'm on my way home now with a special surprise for my lady love," Mike smirked, glancing at the bouquet of roses in the back seat, "My brown sugar sugar," he mused, knowing the pet name was one of the few things that could make her blush.

"Mike! Jesus, I told you not to call me that," she chastised, grateful that her chagrin wasn't visible through the phone.

"Oh please, you loved it when you were still going to school. You were always so tense, studying constantly.. 'Not tonight, Mike. I have a test tomorrow.' 'Mike, I need to review chapter one through 47 to prepare for the BAR.' … That name was one of the only things that could snap you out of your study mode."

"Among other things," he could hear the seductive curl of her lips, and he hung off every syllable. Her words hovered in the air, thickening it as the seconds rolled on.

"What kinds of things, Michonne?"

She inhaled sharply when she heard her name. The question, taken out of context, was innocent enough, but when he said her name, he used the same tone that hinted at something domineering, nefarious, _succulent_. She sat in silence, making him squirm. Mike licked his lips in anticipation.

"Get home before my parents show up, and maybe you'll find out," she teased before hanging up the phone.

"Damn."

—

It had been awhile since her initial call, and Mike's job was a good forty five minutes away from their home. He worked it out in his mind and estimated that he'd only have ten minutes at most with Michonne, and that was if he sped. But damn sure it was worth it.

Luckily, Mike was an expert driver when it came to maneuvering the streets of Atlanta, and traffic was low given that it was a Wednesday night. Just as he was approaching the high school, a landmark denoting his imminent arrival, he heard his phone go off. It was a text from Jessie.

 **Jessie** : Check your back pocket. I left something for you. ;)

As Mike approached the intersection, he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of pink, silk panties. He smirked before picking up his phone, incapable of resisting the urge to text her back. He began texting with one hand as he turned, accelerating down Langston Avenue.

 **Mike** : You're so fucking naug–

 _Bang_! Mike looked up just in time to see the body of a young man smash against his windshield, the boy's skull effectively cracking it and leaving bloodstains leaching through before falling backward. By the time the car was able to screech to a halt, he'd already run over the boy's body which now lay strewn out behind him. Mike's mind was in a frenzy. The teen was seriously injured and lay unconscious in the road. He'd also been crossing within the crosswalk, and as a pedestrian, he had the right away. Mike was entirely in the wrong, and yet there were no witnesses; however there would be soon. Surely someone else would see the boy in the road and call for help. At that point, his best option was to flee, or so he'd convinced himself.

He had to think about his fiancee, his in-laws. With that, he stepped on the gas pedal, mumbling a quick prayer for the boy as he fled the scene of the crime. After all, there was a seat at the head of the dinner table waiting for him just around the corner.


	2. Chapter 2: Traffic

Michonne couldn't help but smirk as she ended the call, tossing her cell phone onto the desk along with the rest of the paperwork she'd been sorting through. Neither Mike nor her parents had honored their punctual commitments, so naturally she decided to catch up on some work in the meantime. There she sat at the laden mahogany desk, embellished in a gold sequined, knee length bodice dress that accented every last curve of her sleek, hourglass figure — an elegant timepiece just ticking away, waiting to be devoured. Stilettos didn't quite scream family dinner, but flats would undermine her relatively formal attire, so she settled on a pair of cute, three inch, silver pumps.

She opened up a new file on her computer and began filling in the details on her latest client: Kasim Reed, 59th mayor of Atlanta. He woke up to find his wife dead laying in bed next to him with multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. Given the rocky state of their marriage and most recent argument in which he was recorded saying, 'You're dead for this, Maryland', he is now considered a prime suspect. Authorities searched the body for foreign prints and came up with nothing. Having nowhere left to run before the story breaks and being taken to court by his in-laws, Mayor Reed came to Michonne Westmore, the best defense attorney in Atlanta.

Her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively as she leaned back in her chair, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she weighed her options. Reed said his wife had gone out the night she was murdered but somehow was returned to the bedroom before dawn. As she contemplated the details, her face suddenly lit up with an idea. Michonne snatched her phone and quickly dialed the most frequently used number.

"Mich, ya know it's movie night. I've got the kids," groaned a knowing voice at the other end of the line.

"Mmm, mm, mm, how I miss that New York accent of yours, Lenny. Tell Joey and Marisa I said hi!" she beamed enthusiastically, hearing the kids arguing in the background over Toy Story or Despicable Me.

"Hi, Aunty Michonne!" they answered for their father, ceasing their bickering to wrestle the phone from him.

"Stop it, or neither of you are getting candy! It'll save me the nagging from your mother," Lenny reprimanded the children, allowing them to settle down before lifting the phone to his ear again.

"Okay, make it snappy. I know for a fact ya didn't call for small talk."

"Right again. Aren't you just a smart cookie?" she smirked, purposefully ruffling his feathers a bit before getting to the point.

"If I was really that smart, I wouldn't be goin' through my second divorce right now," he said flatly, eliciting a giggle from Michonne.

"I told you to ditch Hellanie while you still had the chance, but hey, what do I know? Not like we've been friends for over a decade or anything," Michonne stated sarcastically.

"Not like we dated for over half that time and you weren't just jealous of my new girlfriend, _Melanie_ ," Lenny retorted.

"Ooo, good burn. Cute," her words dripped venom, but she quickly retracted her claws as she still had a favor to ask.

"Ain't I just a doll?" Lenny snorted.

"Anyway," Michonne began, happy to change the subject, "I need you to hack into every law firm's computer system in Atlanta and retrieve their intern list. Well — excluding my own."

"And why would I want to do that on my night off..?"

"Because you love me," she stated poignantly.

"Uh huh.. You're going to have to do better than that, sweet cheeks," he chuckled. How he loved making his ex squirm.

"Becaaauuse," she drew out the word, trying to think of something she could actually bargain with, "I'll be your lawyer when you go to court with Melanie and make sure she doesn't get a dime of anything outside of child support."

"Now that's what I like to hear. Good girl."

"Yeah, yeah. Have it faxed to me by tomorrow night."

"You're welcome, beautiful," he sighed, making kissing noises into the phone.

"Thanks," she rolled her eyes before hanging up. Just then, she heard her doorbell ring. 'Great' she sighed internally. Her parents were already here and Mike was nowhere in sight.

Michonned flitted down the stairs, careful not to trip before practically sprinting to the front door. She hadn't seen her parents since the engagement party, and she desperately missed them, but with work and wedding plans, finding the time to get together proved to be quite the challenge. Luckily for her, Mike planned this special evening for all of them to be together, and of course, the man of the hour was M.I.A. Michonne was determined to enjoy herself nonetheless.

"There's my little girl," her father cooed as she opened the front door, stepping inside to claim the first embrace of the evening.

Michonne just chuckled, squeezing him tightly, "It's nice to see you too, Pop."

"Mind if I get in on the action or are you going to hog our baby all night, Charles?" Michonne's mother asked half-joking, giving her husband a light swat on the shoulder.

"Alright, alright, Rochelle. No need to start a riot," he backed away with his hands up in surrender, making room for his wife.

"Some things never change I suppose," Michonne laughed, pulling her mother in for a hug, "Except that I'm not a baby anymore."

"She's right you know," her mother began, stepping back to take a good look at her first born, "You're old enough to have a baby. When is Mike going to put a little bun in the oven for us, hm?"

She placed her hand on Michonne's stomach, looking over at her husband who nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of becoming a grandfather in the coming year.

"Speaking of Mike, where is he?" her father chimed in, asking a question she didn't even know the answer to. Mike should have been home by now.

Michonne's lower eyelid twitched slightly at the mention of getting pregnant so early in her career. Not to mention her mother felt comfortable using the first person plural when referring to _her_ child. For now it seemed she had to grin and bear it. Being a lawyer, Michonne knew all about choosing her own battles, and she figured it would make the evening much more pleasant for everyone if she sat this one out.

"Traffic — he's on his way. He should be here any minute now. Here, let me take your coats," Michonne smiled, wishing Mike were there to save her from any further conversations about their reproductive plans.


	3. Chapter 3: Family Matters

Rick swept across the kitchen floor to turn up the radio, the loose ends of his apron swinging along with his narrow hips as the intro of 1985 by Bowling for Soup shredded through the speakers.

 ** _Debbie just hit the wall_**

 ** _She never had it all_**

 ** _One Prozac a day_**

 ** _Husbands a CPA_**

He'd finally finished cutting up the raw chicken breast for Carl's favorite dish: chicken and broccoli alfredo. Rick wasn't exactly what you'd call a master chef, but he'd become determined to perfect his son's preferred meal ever since he heard he'd gotten involved in the school play. Since the family had fallen into a slew of financial problems, tensions between him and Lori were high and often resulted in arguments that would go on for hours — sometimes days — on end. In a matter of weeks, their previously cozy abode had been transformed into a full blown war zone, in which Carl became more withdrawn. He'd feared for Carl's well being but wasn't exactly sure how to initiate that dialogue. At the end of the day, Rick was just happy to see his eldest born getting back out there. As for Judith, well, she was too young to really understand the conflict between her mother and father, but she could sense the hostility between them and had gotten into the habit of throwing tantrums whenever the discussion became too heated.

"Eeesch," Rick hissed as he quickly withdrew his hand from the sizzling skillet, the strip of poultry splashing into the hot oil.

"That was a close call," said Lori, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Rick whirled around at the sudden interjection only to find his wife surprisingly clad in a form fitting red dress, black heels, and an elegant pea coat. He assumed his usual stance, placing both hands on his hips and raising his eyebrows as if to say, 'Where do you think you're going?'

"You look nice," Rick stated plainly, his drawl hitching slightly, hinting that the compliment wasn't meant be taken at face value.

"I told you last Thursday I would be attending Carol's award ceremony tonight," Lori quipped in response before walking over to the couch to kiss Judith goodbye.

"Oh," was all Rick could say, feeling stupid that he'd forgotten that their close friend had been nominated for the Pulitzer prize for her award winning children's books. He felt even more guilty when in actuality, he'd most likely ignored Lori when she told him the date, dismissing the key piece of information as yet another one of her incessant rants. If he was being completely honest, he didn't care about anything that came out of the smart mouth that had called him every single four or five letter slur on urbandictionary.

 ** _Her dreams went out the door_**

 ** _When she turned twenty four_**

 ** _Only been with one man_**

 ** _What happened to her plan?_**

"You can still tag along if you want," Lori offered absently as she opened the door, knowing very well that Rick would decline.

Or so she hoped. She couldn't wait to walk out that door and forget her lackluster lifestyle and deadbeat husband for the evening. Interactions with Rick were painful these days, and the notion that things might not get better had begun to dawn on her. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why she'd settled down with Rick in the first place. They were sweethearts in high school, and next thing she knew, she was pregnant with Carl and being proposed to on the back of a pick-up truck. She'd had dreams of getting her Master's in business management and opening up her own little diner in the heart of Atlanta. Instead she was drowning with Rick waist deep in bills given her husband's current unemployment status, slaving away part time as a waitress at the local bar, and playing housewife to man who could barely remember their anniversary.

 ** _She was gonna be an actress_**

 ** _She was gonna be a star_**

 ** _She was gonna shake her ass_**

 ** _On the hood of White Snake's car_**

 ** _Her yellow SUV, is now the enemy_**

 ** _Looks at her average life_**

 ** _And nothing has been alright_**

"No thanks. I still have to wait up for Carl, but you have fun," Rick attempted to to flash her a smile, but it came out rather lopsided, causing Lori to roll her eyes. The man couldn't even pretend to care.

 ** _Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna_**

 ** _Way before Nirvana_**

 ** _There was U2 and Blondie_**

 ** _And music still on M-T-V_**

 ** _Her two kids in high school_**

 ** _They tell her that she's uncool_**

' ** _Cause she's still preoccupied_**

 ** _With 19, 19,_**

"You too, Rick," she gave him a nod before disappearing into the night, the front door slamming behind her.

 ** _1985_**

"Lord help me," Rick groaned as he stared at the front door for a few moments before turning back around to remove the now crispy chicken from the skillet.

 ** _She's seen all the classics_**

 ** _She knows every line_**

 ** _Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink_**

 ** _Even Saint Elmo's Fire_**

 ** _She rocked out to Wham!_**

 ** _Not a big Limp Bizkit fan_**

 ** _Thought she'd get a hand_**

 ** _On a member of Duran Duran_**

Despite the dissonance between Rick and his wife, he still wanted to make it work for the kids regardless of how drained of motivation each conversation left him. He just had a difficult time figuring what exactly it is that Lori wanted from him. Words that were once so easy and pleasant to convey had become like glass in Rick's throat. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that they were still together in all of this, that he was still with her, but Rick Grimes couldn't bring himself to lie to the mother of his children.

 _ **Where's the mini-skirt made of snake skin**_

 _ **And who's the other guy singing in Van Halen**_

 _ **When did reality become T.V.**_

 _ **What ever happened to sitcoms, game shows**_

 _ **(On the radio was)**_

It was time for Rick to consider whether he was doing more harm than good by prolonging the death of their relationship. Was there anything left he could do for Lori?

 _ **Bruce Springsteen, Madonna**_

 _ **Way before Nirvana**_

 _ **There was U2 and Blondie**_

 _ **And music still on M-T-V**_

 _ **Her two kids in high school**_

 _ **They tell her that she's uncool**_

 _' **Cause she's still preoccupied**_

 _ **With 19, 19, 1985**_

Rick mulled over the question as he chopped up the chicken into small, rectangular pieces. He proceeded to drain the penne that had been brought to a steady boil over the course of an hour. He then combined the chicken and penne into a large pot before adding in the alfredo sauce, leaving only the broccoli to wait on. Rick wiped the sweat on his forehead as he leaned against the counter, glancing over at Judith who had been playing with his phone.

"What do you think, Judy? Your old man can't be entirely useless, right?"

 _ **She hates time make it stop**_

 _ **When did Motley Crue become classic rock?**_

He smiled softly as he watched his eighteen month old daughter, too enveloped in the video she was watching to pay her weary father any mind. His gaze drifted back to the stove, noticing the time on the oven. Rick's eyes bulged with concern when he saw it was already seven, and Carl still wasn't home.

 ** _And when did Ozzy become an actor?_**

Just as Rick was making his way over to Judith, he saw the phone screen light up with Carl's name, but naturally Judith had other plans.

"Not so fast, little one," Rick chided as he snatched the phone from Judith right before she declined the call in lieu of watching puppets sing the ABC's for the umpteenth time. Judith pouted at the loss of her show but chose to entertain herself by other means with the pile of Duplo blocks not too far off.

"Hey, buddy. Where are you?"

Rick heard a cough at the other end of the line and then nothing at all.

"Hello? Carl, can you hear me?"

"Hello, this is officer Somerville of the Atlanta police department. Are you the father of a Carl Grimes?"

 ** _Please make this_**

Rick's heart dropped as he took in the unfamiliar voice's query. Carl had always been a good kid who was never known to get into trouble. Rick feared something had happened to him, or maybe he'd gotten involved in the wrong crowd and was currently being detained.

"Yes, this is his father speaking. Is Carl in trouble? If he is, I can assure you this is a onetime incident. I can come down to the station an—"

"Uh, no sir," the officer interrupted, "that won't be necessary."

An uncomfortable pause settled between the two as the realization set in that the situation was much graver than Rick had initially thought. The officer took a moment to clear his throat before speaking again.

"I'm so sorry. Your boy – Carl, he was struck by a vehicle between approximately 6:30 to 6:45 p.m. The driver has yet to be identified. Upon being spotted unconscious in the road, he was rushed to the emergency trauma center at Emory University Hospital. Last I was updated, he was in critical condition. "

 ** _Stop! Stop! Stop!_**


	4. Chapter 4: Catalyst

"I really like that Ben Carson fellow," began Charles Westmore, pausing to dab the corners of his lips with a napkin before continuing, "He's a doctor you know. You can always trust a doctor. Moreover, this nation could use another black president — albeit one that will uphold the Christian values from which this nation was founded unlike Mr. Obama."

"Mhm," hummed Rochelle in agreement as she took a sip of wine, "Obama's got a handsome face and all, but the man prides himself in enabling the homosexual agenda and seems fairly content with the murder of unborn babies. Uh uh, that man needs to get right with the Lord. Tsk, what a shame."

"What are your thoughts on Carson, Michonne?" queried Charles as he gestured in his daughter's direction with the wine glass fit to his palm, its crimson contents sloshing around before he downed half the glass in one swig.

Much to her father's dismay, Michonne simply blinked and continued to stare intently at the back of the sofa when she was summoned to give her opinion, absently twirling the bundle of linguini on her plate.

Somewhere between hearing the phrases 'Ben Carson' and 'homosexual agenda' Michonne had mentally checked out of the conversation. Given her relatively 'liberal' beliefs, (she found that labels, at least in this context, only stunt cooperation) her friends and colleagues were always surprised to find that Michonne's parents were raging, black conservatives — a rare breed that made up for their scant numbers in political fervor. It only made sense that their premier offspring had developed a brilliant mind and quick wit for a career in law; however from a young age, Michonne was determined to form her own opinions based on scientific data and historical fact. So yes, she believed in global warming. Yes, she believed in contraception, and. Yes, she believed women have the right to choose. That being said, her tongue often had to navigate the fences in her speech when it came to dealing with her beloved parents.

"Mich, sweetie..?" Rochelle called, gently shaking her daughter's shoulder. Michonne's glazed expression fell away as her features softened, her mother's voice permeating her thoughtless daze.

"Huh? Oh yeah, um the founding fathers ascribed to deistic theology, so I wouldn't say this country was specifically founded on Christian values, especially considering that at one point, the constitution condoned the enslavement of africans under the institution of white supremacy. While the thirteenth amendment referred to blacks as three-fifths of a human being, the book of Galatians tells us that we are all one in Christ regardless of sex, race, or status, and yet the plunder and subjugation of black bodies continued to take place under the banner of a white God for centuries in the United States. As for Ben Carson, well, I don't believe that his surgical background indicates any level of political aptitude, however I commend his achievements and respect his tenure in the medical community," Michonne stated respectfully, purposefully avoiding the mention of homosexuality or legalized abortion to keep the peace.

Her parents just looked at each other and smiled, most likely ignoring most of what she'd said but indulging in how well-spoken their daughter had become.

"Well do you hear this one? No wonder our baby is such an excellent lawyer," her mother said as she cut into a meatball.

"Now if only she could stop playing with her food," her father chortled, calling attention to the entire plate of pasta wrapped around his daughter's fork. Michonne glanced down, flushing slightly when saw the tightly wound bundle of pasta. Her parents always managed to make her feel like she was a clumsy twelve year old all over again no matter how poised she'd become with age.

Michonne picked up her glass of white wine for the first time and sipped it quietly, frowning as the flavor dissolved on her tongue. Dry.

"Mm, Mich, I've been meaning to ask, whatever happened to your assistant? Ah, I can't seem to remember her name. You two were so close, but I don't recall seeing her at the engagement party.." Rochelle trailed off, trying to figure out whether she was just being forgetful or if there was something she'd missed.

Michonne opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She raised her hand to her temple as she felt the signs of a migraine coming on, but she coolly played it off with a smile.

"Andrea was just a colleague, mom. She helped me stay organized, and you know, we'd chit chat every once in a while, but that was really it. After a few months, she was offered an internship at another firm and I let her go," Michonne quickly summed up before standing and clearing her throat. "Excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back."

Michonne exhaled deeply once she was out of sight. Naturally she sought out the bathroom where she could talk herself down from the anxiety and touch up her make up.

"What is going on with me tonight, and where the hell is Mike?" she sighed as the turned the handle and leaned her body weight into the bathroom door only to be met by her little brother sitting on the toilet.

Michonne let out a shriek upon seeing the "intruder", startling Noah and prompting him to cry out as well.

"Oh Jesus, Michonne. Why did you have to scare me like that?!" He panted, his hand placed over his heart as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Why did I scare _you_?!" Michonne exclaimed incredulously, completely in awe at her brother's nerve. "Noah, what in God's name are you doing in my house?"

"Taking a dump. Duh," He snickered, gesturing to the jeans pooling at his ankles.

Luckily for Michonne, his shirt was long enough to cover his private area — not that it was anything she hadn't already seen given the copious amount of diapers she'd changed in her teen years.

Unfortunately for Noah, his sister's patience was thinning exponentially, and he'd caught her at a particularly bad time. Before he knew it, she had one hand on her hip and the other on his ear about to rip it off as she shot him the meanest death glare she could muster.

"Boy, if you don't stop playing games with me, I will march your pasty butt out there and tell mom and dad what you've been up to," Michonne threatened.

"So I snuck into your house. Big whoop. You really think they'd care about that?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she began, a sadistic sneer growing on her face as she tugged that much harder, "However I do think they'd be interested in you wiping J.J's fingerprints from that stolen pick-up truck. You know tampering with evidence is a federal offense, right?"

"Of course. I think we both know that considering I've done it for you a few dozen times."

"The only difference? I took pictures of you helping out your little friend. Whoops," Michonne shrugged, letting go of of her brother and letting him fall back against the porcelain tank.

"Whoa, slow your roll there, Chonne. Let's not be hasty now," Noah pleaded, placing his hands up in surrender.

"You really are your father's child," Michonne chuckled, rolling her eyes at their comparative gestures before crossing her arms, "Okay, now spill."

"Okay, okay… It's really not a big deal though. Mike wanted me to come over to help clean up his car. He hit a black bear on the way home, and they're endangered. He wanted me get rid of the evidence, replace the windshield, and fix the cracked bumper."

"Wait, Mike's home?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows together before peeking her head out of the bathroom door, only to hear Mike's voice and her parents' laughter echoing throughout their home. Her tense features immediately softened as she stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her, completely ignoring Noah's request for more toilet paper.

She sauntered back into the living room where she watched her fiance and parents bond through amicable conversation. Michonne couldn't help but smile at how natural their interactions were. Mike was just so… perfect.

"I see someone finally decided to show up," she stated sarcastically, her voice laced with enthusiasm that she was trying to mask.

Mike looked up from the table, smiling when he saw Michonne's voluptuous form in the flesh for the first time that evening. He stood up and quickly made his way over to her, placing a chaste kiss on her luscious lips.

"I'm sorry I'm late, honey. The traffic was so bad out there," Mike lied, hoping Michonne wouldn't pick up on the flash of anxiety in his dark pupils.

"I know your secret," Michonne whispered just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

"What..?" He questioned, a look of genuine terror overtaking his mildly handsome features. He had to get out. Now.

"You hit a bear," Michonne smirked, smoothing her palm along his cheek.

He let out an internal sigh of relief, the color beginning to diffuse back into his face. However his obscure body language hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Noah ratted you out," she said, nodding toward the hallway where the downstairs bathroom is. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble." She smirked, reaching up to straighten out his collar.

"Oh thank goodness," he feigned relief, pulling her closer to place a kiss on her forehead. She hummed softly in response, enjoying their private moment together.

Just then, Michonne heard the bathroom door open, and Noah soon appeared from the dark hallway.

"Hey, everybody," said Noah nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just appeared out of nowhere.

"Noah? What are you doing here?" asked Rochelle, unaware that her son had been invited to the dinner.

"Ooo, is that spaghetti and meatballs?" Noah ignored his mother's question, ready to pull out a seat for himself at the table.

"I invited him," interjected Mike, coming up behind Noah to pat him on the back, "No family dinner would be complete without the whole family."

"Come on over here, boy. Sit next to your old man," Michonne's father chimed in, motioning for Noah to take the seat beside him as Mike sat down at the head of the table.

Michonne eventually took her place at the table as well, but didn't share in the overall jubilance of the evening. Something was off. She just couldn't place her finger on it. Around the table, everyone bowed their heads in prayer except Michonne. She just sat back in her chair, Mike's odd behavior stewing on her mind.

"Amen," they concluded the prayer in unison.

Mike lifted his head and looked lovingly upon the smiling faces of his soon to be family but averted his eyes when he found a his fiancee's gaze fixed on his, her expression clouded in concentration.

"Alright, everyone, let's dig in. Lord knows I'm starved after day I've had, " said Mike, the skin below his eye twitching inadvertently.

"I know that's right," her father quipped, his hearty laugh filling the room as he spooned another forkful of pasta.

'Right,' Michonne thought. Something was definitely up.

{Divider}

Rick fumbled with his house keys to lock to door before taking off in a full on sprint toward his red pick-up truck. He slammed the door and floored the gas pedal with little regard for any of the surrounding vehicles as he broke his parallel park.

It was difficult to keep his eyes on the road as he blinked profusely in an attempt to keep the tears from flowing. The same tears he'd been holding back since he knocked on his neighbors' door and begged Maggie and Glenn to watch Judith due to a 'family emergency'. Rick promised he'd be back as soon as the situation would allow to which Maggie kindly allayed that he take all the time he needed. Rick felt grateful for the young couple, but guilt immediately followed, knowing very well he wouldn't have made their acquaintance if Lori hadn't brought them a housewarming gift upon moving in next door. In actuality he had Lori to thank for most things: supporting him through times both good and bad, the occupation he previously held, and more recently, his beautiful baby girl. And yet, his love had run dry.

"Oh shit," he blurted as he swerved to the right, nearly colliding with an SUV after having drifted into the wrong lane. Rick made a hard left, turning into the hospital's emergency parking lot. He glided into the first spot he laid eyes on, bringing the car to an abrupt halt before making a dash for the automatic double doors.

The waiting room was vacant, save for a middle aged man with a bandaged arm. Rick walked briskly as he made his way up to the front desk, his features plagued with desperation.

"How can I help you, sir?" the woman asked routinely, not bothering to look up from her computer screen.

"My boy, Carl Grimes– he was struck by a vehicle tonight. The police said they brought him here. I'm his father, Rick Grimes. I need to see him now. It's urgent," Rick asserted, his voice cracking as he pressed crescents into his palms.

"Carl Grimes…" the woman trailed off, smacking her lips as she entered his name into the system, the screen's dull glow reflecting in her eyes as she scanned the list of patient names, "Ah, Carl Grimes, room 23. Go right ahead, sir," was all she had to say for Rick to take off again.

He jogged down the expressionless hallway, earning strange glances from a pair of nurses on their lunch break. Just as Rick veered toward the room labeled '23', he bumped into a doctor exiting the patient's chamber.

"Sorry, excuse me," Rick mumbled haphazardly as he pushed past the young man.

"Whoa sir," the doctor warned as he grabbed onto Rick's forearm, pulling him back, "You are not allowed to go in there. That patient has experienced severe head trauma and is currently recovering from brain surgery."

"That _patient_ happens to be my son. Now the hell off me," growled Rick, easily freeing himself of the young man's weak grasp, and in doing so, failing to heed his warning before disappearing behind the mint curtain.

"Sir, please!" the doctor called after him, knowing that this wouldn't end well for the boy's father. He followed after Rick, but it was already too late.

Rick stopped short in the corner of the room as he beheld his son's angelic features beneath the artificial white lighting, marred with thick, black stitches and his head shaved where the surgeon had prodded his instruments. His heart dropped into a bottomless pit as felt everything at once and then went completely numb, just as it had been when metal chanced Carl's tender flesh. The young boy heard the first 'snap' as he felt the steel bumper crush his ribs, he had felt the moment his skull split open, warm sanguine blurring his vision and matting his hair, the wound crusting over like stale sugar. He felt how excruciating it had been to breathe with only one lung as blood filled the other, and the roar of the engine silencing his sprightly dreams. Carl had felt it all. And then there was nothing.

"Mr. Grimes, is it…?" the doctor addressed Rick hesitantly.

Only silence pervaded the space between them.

"We have a visitor's suite where you can stay for the night if you'd like," the doctor offered apologetically.

"What's the prognosis?" Rick finally responded, disregarding the doctor's offer.

"Excuse m—"

"Carl's prognosis for fuck's sake! What is it?!"

The young man took a deep breath before lifting the clipboard at his side, realizing just how heavy his limbs had become. He readjusted his glasses before reading his notes out loud, his speech cautioned as if trying to spare Rick's ears:

"Carl sustained various injuries, some less debilitating than others for example: a fractured jaw, a dislocated shoulder, and heavy bruising on his legs and abdomen. However your son is also suffering from a concussion, internal bleeding, and nerve damage. Cognitive impairment is guaranteed. Not only is there severe trauma to his frontal and occipital lobes, but we've also isolated spinal damage in his lower lumbar region. It pains to inform you, Mr. Grimes, but there is a very large possibility that Carl may never walk again."

{Divider}

The clock sitting at Carl's bedside shifted to display 2:37 a.m.

Rick's eyes were bloodshot as he continued to stare at Carl's lifeless form from across the room. According to all the plastic tubes and machinery, his son's vitals were fine, and yet, Rick felt he had already lost him. 'Cognitive impairment' was a very broad term, Rick learned. For all he knew, his son could wake up be a completely different person. All of their fond memories – trips to the beach, going to the park, not so cherished family get-togethers – gone in a matter of seconds, having erupted from Carl's vessel and spilled out onto the unforgiving pavement.

Rick's stream of conscious was suddenly interrupted by a loud gasp. In a matter of seconds, Rick's weary frame sprung from the armchair and closed the space between him and the hospital bed. Carl's eyes shot open, regaining consciousness for the first time since the accident as his lungs struggled to inflate. He was beginning to panic.

"It's okay," Rick comforted, his own breathing becoming ragged as he watched his son struggle to achieve such a simple task, "Just follow me, okay?"

Rick had to shut his eyes, biting back the tears that had been threatening to fall all night. He needed to be strong for Carl.

"Breathe in," he said, demonstrating by taking in an exaggerated breath. Rick couldn't help but smile when he saw Carl calm down enough to follow his instructions.

"And out," Rick said before they exhaled in unison. "You're doing great, buddy. Just keep that up. I'm here," he whispered, fearing that talking loudly might frighten the boy in his fragile state.

Rick stood in comfortable silence, listening to Carl's evening breaths. He closed his eyes, clinging, meditating to the sound of sweet life flowing through his first born. He knew now after listening to hours of the respirator forcibly pumping oxygen into Carl's body how euphonious the sound of manual breathing truly was.

"D-d..da.." the boy stuttered, struggling to get out the consonant.

"Shhh, it's okay. You need to rest," Rick assuaged, gently stroking his fingers through his son's wiry bangs.

"D-dad," Carl breathed, the corner of his lips turning up slightly.

Rick's heart fluttered upon hearing the single syllable phrase, tears of joy welling up in his eyes and overflowing onto cheeks.

However the moment was short lived as Carl's breaths suddenly became erratic, each one drawing shorter than the last as his body began to convulse.

"Carl… Carl!" Rick shouted, his frenzied mind pleading with the Lord to bring his boy back to him – boy that was present just moments ago. The convulsions were only getting worse as his sons eyes rolled back in his head and he began foaming at the mouth.

"Help! Someone help me, please!" Rick called out, consequently lurched forward, holding down Carl's limbs as the seizure ravaged his weakened body.

The emergency staff suddenly began flooding into the room, and the first thing they did was pry Rick from Carl's quaking body. At this point Rick's legs could no longer carry him as he collapsed, sobbing onto the sterile tile, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he watched a nurse inject a sedative filled syringe into his son's neck.

"Why God," he pleaded as he room began to spin, "It should have been me, it should have been me," he repeated the mantra as he began to fall in and out of consciousness.

{Divider}

Rick let out a loud groan at the dull ache in his temple, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal his wife pacing back and forth. It seemed he had been placed in a room of his own after passing out in the midst of all the commotion.

"Lori," Rick called out, relieved to see a familiar face in all of this.

She turned to look at him, newly aware of his conscious state as a scowl formed on her lips.

"Good, you're awake. Now you can sign the divorce papers," Lori announced apathetically before turning to the doorway, "Banks, we're in here."

A rather plump man in a suit appeared in the doorway and quickly made his way over to Rick, presenting him with a clipboard containing the divorce papers and a shiny, ball point pen. Rick couldn't even begin to process the situation, much more for what had prompted the decision overnight.

"Wow, so that's how it is," Rick almost laughed. He was hysterical at this point. "You're really a piece of work, Lori. Showing up here, asking for a divorce when our son is in the next room over fighting for his life!" Rick's voice grew louder as the situation became more and more ridiculous in his mind.

"Yeah well, he wouldn't be if you'd answer your goddamn phone, Rick! He is lying in that bed because you didn't give him a ride home. He's paralyzed from the waist down because of _you_! So don't you dare tell _me_ I'm being ridiculous. You killed our son's future, Rick. My baby is going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life," she spat, her face red with anguish and tears brimming in her eyes.

"Lori…" the words died on his lips as he watched the mother of break down. All he could think to say was, "I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that now," she spurned, turning away from him as to not show weakness as the tears began to fall. "Just sign the goddamn papers, Rick."

Finally, he had the answer to his question. Signing those papers was the only positive thing left he could do for Lori. Reluctantly, he took the pen and filled in his signature wherever the lawyer advised.

"There," he conceded.

"And another thing," Lori began, placing her hands on her hips, "I'm taking Judith. We'll sort everything out with Carl when this is over, but don't bet on anything more than visitation."

"What do you mean? You can't take my daughter from me!"

"Actually she can," the paunchy lawyer interjected, pointing to the freshly signed document, "You just turned over your custody rights."

"Lori, please. You can leave, but I beg of you, don't take my baby girl," Rick pleaded with the woman he once called his wife. He made an attempt to get up but his body remained indisposed of catering to his desires.

"You should get some rest," Lori encouraged absently, hiding her tearstained eyes with a pair of Versace shades, "Congratulations, you are all alone."

"Fuck you."

Without another word, she turned on her heels and exited, her nameless lawyer following suit, leaving Rick to bawl into the disinfected, cotton sheets.

{Divider}

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do?" Rick pinched the bridge of his nose upon receiving the bad news.

"Mr. Grimes, the driver has yet to be identified. Until we have a name, we can't file a claim for your son's medical bills," stated John A. Snover, the 26th lawyer he'd seen about Carl's case in the last two weeks.

"Well the police ended their investigation last week and turned up with nothing. Are you seriously telling me that not only will the perpetrator go unpunished, but I'm going to be forced to pay for his bills out of pocket?"

"Well yes— unless you have insurance. Have you considered utilizing your worker's benefits?"

"I'm kind of in between jobs right now," Rick divulged, avoiding the lawyer's gaze.

"I'm truly sorry about what happened to your son, but there's really nothing I can do. Furthermore, I'm afraid you won't find much help elsewhere. These are the kind of cases that tend to slip through the cracks, if you will."

Ricked sighed dejectedly before standing up to bid the man a good day, "Well, thank you for all your help, Mr. Snover."

Rick offered a weak but polite smile before turning to exit the office. He paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder, "Oh, Mr. Snover? Do you happen to have a restroom in your building?"

"Why, of course. My intern, Andrea, can direct you," he answered with a smile. He then pressed a button on the P.A. system before speaking into the microphone, "Andrea Harris to the main office please, Andrea Harris."

Unbeknownst to Mr. Snover, Andrea stood right outside the doorway, waiting a few moments to conceal the fact that she'd actually been eavesdropping on their conversation the entire time. After a minute or so, the blonde appeared in the doorway, greeting her boss and Rick.

"I'd like you to show Mr. Grimes to the water closet," stated Mr. Snover.

"Of course, right this way," Andrea nodded in affirmation, before leading Rick down the hall to the facilities.

"And it seems we've reached our destination," Andrea chirped, stopping just outside of the men's bathroom.

"Thank you kindly," Rick nodded in response before placing a hand on the doorknob.

"Uh, wait, Mr. Grimes?"

Rick paused, curious as to what the holdup was about.

"I just wanted to offer my sincere condolences," Andrea began, knowing she should probably keep her mouth shut. "And I think I know someone who can help."

"What? Who?" Rick turned to face her completely now, no longer concerned with his bladder.

"Michonne Westmore," she revealed cautiously, knowing there was no turning back after leaking her name.

"How can I contact her?" Rick questioned, his pupils dilating at the prospect of sorting out this mess.

"Here," Andrea pulled out a pen and grabbed Rick's wrist, scribbling a mysterious number on the inside of his forearm. Rick frowned slightly at the lack of professionalism, but then again, receiving a strange number from some woman you just met was also pretty shady, so he figured the situation warranted it.

"Thank you," Rick said once she'd finished penning the number and the name.

"No problem. Just, don't tell her who sent you, okay?"

"Your secret is safe with me, Andrea," Rick promised, grateful for any help at this point.

"Great, good luck!" With that she quickly scurried back to her desk, her heart pounding in her chest. It had been such a long time since she'd said that name out loud.

Rick stared down at his arm for a moment, blinking slowly as he took in the miraculous turn of events. Whoever the elusive "Michonne" is, she offers something Rick thought he might never find again: hope.


	5. Chapter 5: Friends

Michonne bounded up the front steps to her office building, the few stray locs that made up her bang dangling in her face. The rest of her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, bouncing atop her head as she swept through the lobby, nodding to the security guard before stepping into the resting elevator. She proceeded to jab the button indicating the fourth floor repeatedly with her index finder until the door closed.

She wasn't late for work but in a hurry nonetheless. Michonne would be meeting with a client, and she wanted ample time to work on the Kasim Reed case before the consultation. Once the elevator doors opened, she walked briskly across the smooth, black tile and stopped just shy of the transparent double doors that led to her floor. Her nimble fingers keyed in the code from muscle memory to unlock the door. Michonne smiled upon finding her secretary, Sasha, at the front desk diligently filing papers.

"Morning, pretty lady," Michonne hummed, knocking lightly on Sasha's desk to get her attention.

Sasha looked up, slightly startled from the sudden interruption.

"Seems someone woke up on the right side of the bed," Sasha commented as she took in her boss's sunny disposition.

"I guess you could say that," Michonne beamed, a mischievous glint in her eye as she swayed back and forth.

"Ooo, girl, you don't have to tell me twice. Someone got it good last night, huh?" Sasha snorted as she stashed some papers away in a manila folder.

Michonne only blushed in response, silently affirming Sasha's previous notion.

"Anyway, I took the liberty of picking up your mocha chai latte this morning," Sasha began, nudging the cup of coffee in Michonne's direction before continuing, "Oh and don't forget, you have a three o'clock consultation with a Mr. Rick Grimes."

"Yeah, yeah, I have it filled out on my agenda," Michonne dismissed, dreading the appointment as consultations tended to be rather blasé. "But thank you for the coffee. You're a real life saver," she added, snatching it up before sauntering away to her office.

"Yeah well, I love my job," Sasha called after her boss, smiling and shaking her head as she returned to her laptop.

{Divider}

Michonne let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in her chair and, with a flick of her wrist, letting the official police report flutter about her desk.

"Not a single clue," she murmured as she leaned against her hand, threading her fingers through her neat locs. It had only been about an hour, but she was already ready to call it a quits for the day. None of this made sense. Usually it took thirty minutes at most to find some sort of flaw – a single loophole to be exploited in the judicial process — but given how well the report lined up with the evidence, it seemed Michonne, for the first time in her career, actually had to consider whether or not she could win this case. If not, the mayor would likely receive a thirty year sentence, which is, let's face it, practically a lifetime for most. Not to mention the fact that the court justice she was presenting to wasn't particularly fond of her work due to some 'shenanigans' that occurred in a couple years ago in which Justice Harkfeld was surprised by the sudden introduction of new evidence, catalyzing a miraculous verdict in favor of Michonne's client. Ever since, he's been "on to her", whatever that meant. Actually Michonne knew exactly what that meant, which was why she couldn't call on him for any favors this time around when pulling illegal strings wouldn't be so easy. Luckily for Mayor Reed, she hadn't exhausted her options yet. In her quieter moments, Michonne considered herself a magician of sorts, so naturally she always kept one last trick up her sleeve.

Said magician reached across her desk for Mayor Reed's personal account, looking it over for anything that could lend to a more complicated narrative. Michonne was deep in concentration when she heard two knocks before hearing the familiar creek of her door opening.

"Glad you could make it," she greeted listlessly, not bothering to look up from the document before her.

"Typical," Andrea scoffed at the apathy her ex-partner displayed. It seemed Michonne had no problem picking up where they left off.

"Excuse me? Is there an issue, Miss Harris?" Michonne inquired, her tone cold: impersonal.

Andrea couldn't help but cringe at being called as if she were a stranger. She hated it – the formality of it all.

"Cut the crap, Michonne," Andrea spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

The way her name rolled off Andrea's tongue with such candor forced Michonne to look up, narrowing her gaze at the irritable blonde.

"Look Andrea, I didn't call you here to sass me," Michonne growled, knitting her brows in annoyance.

"Right. You called me here because you _need_ me," Andrea quipped before walking up to Michonne's desk, resting her backside against the edge.

"Oh please," she let out an exasperated sigh, completely unamused by her colleague's gall.

"Oh? So you're telling me you haven't reached a mental block in that pretty little head of yours? And of course the great Michonne Westmore would _never_ call on the best partner she's ever had to help her figure things out, right?" mocked the blonde, earning one of Michonne's famous sideways glares.

"Face it, sweetie. You can't get enough of me."

Andrea batted her eyelashes at her friend contemptuously, eliciting an inadvertent blush from the latter.

"Andrea, let me be clear. You're not getting your job back. Yes, I would appreciate your input, but your position at my firm is temporary," stated Michonne.

"Who's to say I'd be willing to accept it in the first place?"

Andrea could play this game too – or so she thought. Michonne simply laughed. She could tell by Andrea's expression that she genuinely believed she'd caught her in a situational snare, but naturally, Michonne was already one step ahead.

"Well, considering you'll be receiving an email from your current boss regarding your suspension due to your internet history being leaked on your employer-issued desktop, I figured I'd do you an old friend a favor and offer you a job here," Michonne divulged, yawning the last portion of her sentence, pretending to be bored at the prospect.

Andrea's eyes widened as she experienced Michonne's crooked ways first hand, and quite frankly, she'd had enough.

"You are one twisted bitch, Mich. I can't believe you'd do that to me. After all we've been through; you still have no respect for my career or anything I do that doesn't concern you," Andrea raised her voice, accidentally knocking over the picture of Mike sitting on Michonne's desk.

"I promise you it's nothing personal. I had to have a plan B in the case you didn't choose to comply."

"It's nothing personal, huh? We get drunk and have sex two weeks two weeks before your engagement party – oh, but it's nothing personal!"

"Andrea, stop yelli–"

"Why, are you scared Sasha might hear? Michonne and I fucked! We had sex in your house while Mike was away!"

"We did not have sex, Andrea! We were drunk. It was a mistake."

"You fucking fired me and forced me to take some stupid internship. I went from being Michonne Westmore's partner in law to a goddamn intern. Do have any idea how degrading that was? Now you want me back and, in the blink of an eye, compromise my new position, but it's nothing personal, right? Nothing is personal to you, Mich. You know why? 'Cause you're a fucking robot!"

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two. Michonne was at a loss for words but knew she had to say something. She couldn't let Andrea slip away again.

"Andrea, I'm sorry. In my mind, there was no alternative," Michonne spoke slowly and quietly in an attempt to comfort Andrea while hopefully making her reasoning clear. Yet again, she felt that familiar pang.

"Yeah? Well for the first time, sorry's not enough."

Andrea Harris wasn't sure why she agreed to see Michonne. Maybe she needed closure or somewhere in the back of her mind thought they could work things out and hopefully start over. But in those moments, it became clear who and what Michonne really was to Andrea . And after that door slammed, she sure as hell wasn't turning back.

{Divider}

' _Ding_ ' the elevator echoed into the open hallway of the fourth floor before opening to reveal an expectant Rick Grimes. He tentatively stepped out and ambled up to the glass door, gently knocking on the semi reflective surface. The dull knock seemed to redirect the secretary's attention from her laptop to the prospective client and quickly buzzed him in. She stood to greet him as he made his way toward the desk, taking in the foyer's minimalist design. White, reflective marble tile juxtaposed the hallway's dark color scheme. Grey, patterned loveseats adorned the waiting area along with a wood-edged glass table. A neat pile of sophisticated titles lay atop the table: magazines like Reader's Digest, Psychology Today, and Business Weekly — all of which Rick typically preferred to avoid.

"You must be Rick Grimes," Sasha greeted warmly with slight nod.

"In the flesh," Rick nodded in return, placing his hands on his hips. He realized his words came out a little gruffer than intended from the way the secretary tensed.

Rick wasn't quite sure what the dress code was for an occasion such as this, but he was thankful that he'd dressed up given the professional environment. He was clean shaven, sporting a pair of navy blue slacks and a matching blazer, his white dress shirt peeking out from underneath. The ensemble was embellished with a silver tie, diagonally streaked with translucent teal and Italian leather shoes. Unfortunately, he'd fallen into the habit of neglecting his appointments at the hairdresser, so his tresses remained long and gelled back, the majority of his wavy strands resting comfortably at the nape of his neck.

Rick forced a smile for the secretary's sake, giving her license to continue.

"Ah, Ms. Westmore will see you now. Right this way," she smiled half-heartedly, gesturing for him to follow her down the corridor.

Sasha led him to a solid oak door with a rectangular window, the textured glass donning a plaque that read 'Michonne A. Westmore'. The secretary gave the door a light tap only to receive an immediate 'Go away!' from the other end. Rick raised his eyebrows at the unusual response, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. Sasha didn't dare turn around to face her client, an incredulous look plastered on her face. She grit her teeth, hoping she'd misheard her boss, and knocked again.

"Ms. Westmore? It's Sasha," she called in the most positive tone she could muster given the current situation.

"You think I don't know who it is?" the voice on the other side of the door sassed rhetorically.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sasha mumbled under her breath. She could not believe Michonne was acting this way, much more for having to argue with her boss in front of a client.

"Ugh uh," Rick coughed before clearing his throat in a pathetic attempt to mask his laughter.

'Great. Blue eyes over here is having a ball'. Sasha rolled her eyes, pretending not to take notice of his amusement as she made a third attempt.

"Ms. Westmore, I really think it would be in your best interest to open up considering that your clien—"

"You know what I think?" the voice suddenly interjected, "I think you shouldn't have let Andrea inside my office!"

In a split second the door swung open, revealing a fuming woman who Rick presumed to be the Michonne he'd heard so much about.

"Honestly, Sasha, what in God's name possessed you to let that woman visit me during work h-hours…" her voice trailed off, growing quiet as she laid eyes on not only an annoyed Sasha with a face that said 'I tried to tell you' but also a rather handsome gentleman, his expression slightly entertained as he gingerly stroked his hair.

Wide eyed and embarrassed Michonne attempted to straighten up as Sasha folded her arms across her chest.

"I'll leave you both to it then," she snipped before retiring to her desk, muttering beneath her breath, "I swear I don't get paid enough for this shit."

Rick proceeded to look his supposed last chance up and down, attempting to gauge her energy but was rendered susceptible to noticing her supple curves even in her plain, professional attire. He locks were pulled back on either side into a small ponytail while the rest cascaded down her back and shoulders.

Her previously distressed features softened almost immediately as she tucked a stray lock behind her ear. It was obvious that she was unsure of what to say as she searched his eyes for a negative reaction. Instead, he offered something else.

"It seems you're having a rough day, Miss. I've had a few of those myself lately," he chuckled, shifting his weight and cocking a brow as he looks into her eyes, "I can always come back another time if that would make thangs easie—"

"No," it seemed she'd acquired a habit of interrupting, "Please. Come inside."

{Divider}

"I have to be honest with you Mr. Grimes," Michonne began, letting out a sigh.

"Call me Rick," he insisted.

"Mr. Grimes, as I was saying, I don't usually take cases like yours," she finished, ignoring his previous request.

Rick exhaled deeply upon hearing the bad news, leaning back in his chair. Interestingly enough, he wasn't all that concerned with her verdict as he studied her from an intermediate distance. It was as if every muscle in her body, despite her languid movements, was subject to her indiscriminate control – so vastly different from the gorgeous yet unpredictable being he'd observed in the hallway. The taste for her unadulterated passions lingered on his tongue.

"You don't have many friends, do you?" Rick inquired, tilting his head slightly as his index finger ghosted across his chin.

"Excuse me?" Michonne balked at the question, feeling rather insulted. "I hardly see what that has to do with our conversation."

"I'm just saying, you don't seem very socialized is all. Didn't mean to offend; just an observation."

"Right," she breathed, the timber in his voice making it hard for her to focus on dismissing his case.

"Have any kids?"

"Do you?" Michonne shot back, realizing after the fact what a stupid question that was given Rick's son was the subject of the case.

"I do," Rick stated calmly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, "And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Elaborate."

"Well, since you're curious," Rick teased, however Michonne remained hardened, "You already know I have a son. His name's Carl – real good kid, ahem," Rick cleared his throat, finding it increasingly difficult to discuss his first born, his gaze downcast.

Michonne could sense his anguish, some instinct driving her to rush to his side and place a hand on his shoulder in consolation.

"Hey, it's okay," she comforted, "You don't have to."

"But I do," he whispered, the strain in his voice apparent despite the almost inaudible volume.

"Rick–"

"I have a baby girl, eighteen months old, she's a tiny little butterball," Michonne could hear the smile in Rick's voice as he mused about his youngest, undertones of laughter—happy memories—scratching the grim surface, "Judith… that's her name. After the accident, Lori took her from me."

The lawyer in Michonne wanted to bombard Rick with questions about when and how this occurred, whether they'd gone to court to settle the decision, but the human in her simply nodded in understanding, rubbing light circles into his shoulder blade.

"Carl's all I have left, and the doctors say I'm going to lose him once Lori's insurance is exhausted," Rick sniffled, pressing the palms of his hands against his sunken eyes. Michonne found herself kneeling down by his side, feeling a shift in the air between them.

"If I don't find the person who did this, my boy is going to die. And I… I- I'll be all alone. Who am I kidding? I already am," his voice cracked as small rivulets began to flow from the space between his palm and cheek.

"Rick," Michonne's voice was soft but firm, her brows knit in conviction as she reached up to smooth her palms over the back Rick's hand, pulling them from his face and placing one instead, to gently cup her cheek while she held the other.

"Look at me."

Slowly but surely Rick found the strength to lift his eyes from the empty floor space to capture the benevolence in Michonne's pupils.

"Good. When you're looking down there, you're stuck inside your mind where your fate has already been sealed, but when you're looking at me, or any person for that matter, you are in the present where there's still time for things to change. I'm going to help you make that happen, okay?"

Rick stared back at her, lost and motionless.

"Okay?" she echoed, nodding her head in hopes that Rick would mirror her.

"Okay," he whispered.

"And you most certainly are not alone. I'm with you. Right now until we press charges against the person who did this. If there's one thing can promise you, it's that your boy, Carl? He's going to live."


	6. Chapter 6: So This is Love

Michonne hummed quietly as her middle finger circled around the edge of her wine glass. It was a lullaby she learned from her grandmother as a child. The lyrics were in creole and had faded over time, but the nostalgic tune burned brightly as ever in her conscious as she massaged her left temple.

 _ **So this is love**_

Mike lay upstairs, stretched out across the width of their bed as he tossed and turned in his restless slumber. For the past few weeks, Mike had been muttering, screaming, and sweating profusely in the midst of his REM cycle. Typically Michonne would wake him when his ravings became too volatile, but tonight she didn't mind. She'd removed herself completely in fact. She couldn't sleep either as the meeting with Andrea played in her mind's eye on an endless loop.

" _We did not have sex, Andrea! We were drunk. It was a mistake."_

She groaned as memories of her licentious deeds flooded from her subconscious. It _was_ a mistake, and until yesterday, Michonne wasn't forced to acknowledge the fact that she'd cheated on her fiancé. That's why she fired Andrea in the first place, so she could move forward with Mike without any reservations. And yet, she found herself sitting at the dining room table at the wee hours of the morning, her limbs heavy with guilt in all her drunken stupor – her lips soaked in wine just as they had been the night Mike left for his business trip.

{Flashback}

Michonne let out a bored yawn as she reached for the remote, promptly turning off the television. She decided to turn in early that evening given her lack of alternatives. Three hours had passed since Mike left, and she didn't feel like sleeping in their shared bedroom, which just felt empty without him, so she retired, instead, to the living room. Dressed in a banal ensemble of shorts and a tank top, Michonne curled up beneath the knit throw blanket and closed her eyes. But naturally the universe had other plans. Just moments later, there was a rapping at the front door accompanied by her best friend's sing song voice summoning her to retain consciousness. Michonne willed her scantily clad form to stand up and idly make her way to the door, her fingers fumbling with the lock before wrenching the door open in one swift motion.

 _ **Mmmmmm**_

Michonne leaned against thick frame as a tired smile tugged at her lips upon seeing Andrea.

"What are you doing here?" Michonne asked, her voice a soft hum as she tilted her head to the side in curiosity. Andrea was scheduled to visit her parents that weekend; otherwise Michonne probably would have called her up for a night out.

"Visiting you," Andrea quipped, raising her eyebrows as she took in her friend's disheveled appearance. She figured Michonne had most likely been napping.

"You know what I meant. What about your parents?" Michonne yawned, blinking excessively in an attempt to shake the sleep from her droopy lids.

"Cancelled. My brother's wife went into labor this afternoon. They're driving down to see him in Vermont."

"Bummer."

"It is what it is," Andrea shrugged, clearly not too upset about the change of plans, "Anyway, is it too late for a little girl talk and muscato?" the blonde asked hopefully, raising the bag full of bottles in her right hand. Michonne couldn't help but chuckle at her cute attempt at enticing her.

"I mean I _guess_ I can pencil you in…" Michonne dragged out, wrinkling her nose as she feigned snobbish.

"Uh huh," Andrea nodded along, shooting her friend an incredulous look before they both burst out in a fit of laughter simultaneously. Michonne struggled to catch her breath as she steadied herself, leaning her weight against the doorknob.

"Please, make yourself at home _, Miss Harris_ ," Michonne jested, gesturing for Andrea to come inside.

"Whatever you say, boss lady," Andrea chuckled, grabbing Michonne's hand and tugging her along, the door slamming behind the two of them.

{End Flashback}

Michonne really did love Andrea. The lighthearted blonde had somehow managed to worm her way into her heart, which was now pained with an uninvited ache as she recalled their playful banter. In truth, Andrea was the closest thing Michonne ever had to a best friend. That's what they were after all – at least most of the time.

 _ **So this is love**_

Intuitive as Michonne was, she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the fluidity of their relationship. It all started when Michonne needed some help around the office. Sasha fared well with helping her stay organized and scheduling appointments, but Michonne longed for a colleague to go over proposals with and validate her actions, a partner of sorts; that's where Andrea came in. The energetic blonde was fresh out of law school and authored an online column in which she scrutinized every last one of Michonne's cases – pointing out minute inconsistencies and moments of unparalleled brilliance alike. Interestingly enough, Michonne became an avid follower of said column and respected Andrea's critique. In her heart of hearts, Michonne knew she'd met her intellectual match. When Sasha finally made the call, Andrea was put to work the very next day. At first their interactions were simple—professional. Occasionally Andrea would interject with her own input or point out a logical fallacy in Michonne's thinking. Michonne would ask her to elaborate, and the two kept the conversation going, sometimes extending for hours on end. Some days, Andrea would stay late, listening to Michonne's lectures on the criminal justice system and other systemic flaws in the judicial branch. Soon they began spending exorbitant amounts of time together outside of work: getting breakfast, having sleepovers. Andrea had even convinced Michonne to go out with her to a local club. They had fun together, good, clean fun. And yet, a tension lingered between them that Michonne could never quite place – the same tension she felt buried deep in her abdomen as her fingers ghosted over the fabric between her legs.

{Flashback}

"And then, and then-" Michonne stuttered in between feverish giggles, her finger pointed and hanging in the air, "He said, put the pussy on chainwax!"

Upon the delivery of that brilliant line, Andrea lurched forward, nearly dropping her glass as she let out a boisterous guffaw. Sober, Michonne rarely ever tolerated crude humor, but she had an affinity for foolishness when she was drunk. Andrea eventually sat back up, weakly hitting Michonne on the shoulder.

"T-tell it again, Mich," Andrea chortled, her head lolling back on the couch cushion.

"Nah," Michonne droned reaching for the bottle and refilling her glass.

 _ **So this is what makes life divine**_

"Whoa!" Andrea shot up, shifting her eyes in either direction, "You know what I just realized?"

"Hmmmm?"

Michonne's pupils dilated as she watched the savory liquid fill the void in her cup.

"It's really quiet in here," Andrea whispered, exaggerating the room's silence, "Where did Mike go?"

"Probably fucking some woman on the other side of the country," Michonne buzzed with laughter before guzzling down her entire glass and reaching again for the bottle to pour herself another."

"Wait, what?" Andrea ceased her bout of laughter and grabbed the bottle from Michonne, "Mich, you don't actually think that."

Michonne simply shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Who cares," she trailed off half-heartedly, the alcohol allowing her to speak her insecurities without having to feel the pain.

"Well, he'd be a fool to do something like that," Andrea stated seriously, turning to face Michonne.

"You think so?" Michonne cooed, tilting her head to the side in flattery. Her cheeks were flushed, giving them a soft red glow in the dim lighting. Her face felt tingly and warm. Everything was so warm.

 _ **I'm all aglow, Mmmmmm  
And now I know**_

"I know so. You are the single most beautiful, intelligent, and respectable woman I have ever met," Andrea said in earnest, reaching up to place a hand on her warm cheek, "I swear, Mich, I've studied your work for years, but he's privileged to know you ways I could only dream of. Inside and out."

"Inside," Michonne drew out the word as her eyes mulled over Andrea's body, taking their close proximity as an invitation to close the space between them with a kiss. Andrea's jaw fell open to Michonne's insistent tongue as Michonne guided her hand to the inside of her shorts.

 _ **The key to all heaven is mine**_

When she finally pulled away, there was a newfound hunger in Andrea's eyes.

"And out," Michonne breathed. The next thing she knew, she was propped up on the couch, Andrea settled between her legs as she ran her tongue along her glistening slit, causing Michonne to throw her head back and cry out.

{End Flashback}

"Andrea," she moaned softly into the stillness of her home as her fingers worked now from within the fabric.

Michonned tried to focus on breathing deeply as she pointed her toes, resting her heels against the chair's legs. She was absolutely disgusted with herself for getting off on such imagery, so much so, that her mind seemed to filter out the blonde and replaced her with the man she'd met earlier that day: Rick. The thought of him administering such nefarious ministrations drove her over the edge almost immediately as she could no longer sustain a normal breathing pattern.

 _ **My heart has wings, Mmmmmm**_ _ **  
**_ _ **And I can fly**_

"Fuck," she breathed her back arching against the rigid structure of the chair as she circled her clit at a vigorous pace. She shut her eyes tightly, biting down hard on her lip just as she railed on the verge of climax.

 _ **I'll touch ev'ry star in the sky**_

"Michonne?" Mike called from the staircase, suddenly flicking on the lights, "What do you think you're doing?"

She quickly removed her hand from her shorts and sat up in her chair, praying he hadn't heard too much.

"Babe," her voice was strained, "I... I was just having a late night drink. Did you want some wine?"

"Right, that's what all the moaning was about," Mike walked closer, his large frame looming over her. He could smell her arousal. "You were touching yourself. If you were feeling horny, Mich, all you had to do was ask. You know that."

"I know," she mumbled weakly, feeling guilty that the wet grit between her thighs wasn't for the man she was marrying, but instead for a complete stranger.

"Stand up, baby."

She did as she was told, knowing very well what was coming next.

"Take off your shorts."

 _ **So this is the miracle that I've been dreaming of**_

She complied, feeling tears begin to well up in her eyes.

"Panties too."

"Mike, I really don't feel lik-"

"It's okay, honey. I'll do it for you."

Mike kneeled down and, in one swift motion, pulled down her underwear, exposing her bottom half. Michonne shivered at the cold air pervading her warm folds – unable to handle the mixture of humiliation, vulnerability, and guilt churning in her stomach. Mike gripped her waist, sitting her up on the cool, wood surface before consequently removing his own clothing and proceeding to take her.

 _ **Mmmmmm  
Mmmmmm**_

"Like I said, all you had to do was ask, Mich," he groaned into her ear as he thrusted in and out of her, the silent tears stoking his hubris as they rolled down her cheeks.

 _ **So this is love**_


	7. Chapter 7: Puppy Love

Rick whistled as he meandered up to the quiet street corner. He glanced down at his wrist watch, finding that it read seven o'clock exactly. Today would be his first day as a certified dog walker, a title he'd received just moments after filling out an online survey. The job was simple enough: walk a group of dogs through the park, clean up after them, and return them to their owners. And while he wasn't dubious about his ability to complete the task, he couldn't help but wonder if he could do so without sacrificing his dignity. He already felt silly wearing a red jumpsuit, which he hoped would make him seem more amicable than he felt his thick drawl let on.

His small neighborhood was just beginning to stir with awareness as the sun beset the pale dawn. A silhouette appeared in the distance of what seemed to be his first customer. Rick had to admit, he was a little intimidated by the large german shepard led by an equally stocky man in a knit beanie.

"Hey. Are you the dog walker?" asked the man as he approached Rick, a friendly smile gracing his lips.

"That's me," Rick tried to sound enthusiastic despite inwardly wilting at his newfound title, "I'm Rick, it's a pleasure to meet you." He extended a hand to the man, weary of the snarl the german shepard seemed to be giving him.

"Tyreese," he replied before pulling Rick into a bro hug, "Listen, man, I really appreciate what you're doing here. My sister's been nagging me about taking her dog out in the mornings, but I just don't have the time."

Rick couldn't help but smile at the kind sentiment, patting Tyreese on the back before pulling away, "Well, Tyreese, that's what I'm here for."

Rick nodded in affirmation, standing up a little straighter and placing his hands on his hips as he redirected his attention to the growling dog sniffing at his leg.

"And may I ask who this little cupcake is?" Rick's voice cracked in his faux attempt at pretending to like dogs.

"Lucy, and she's no cupcake," Tyreese cautioned, turning over the leash to Rick. "Anyway, I gotta go. I'll see you later, Rick. Thanks again!" He called behind him as he jogged back to his home.

He meant to ask what Tyreese meant by that, but he had a pretty good idea from the way Lucy was chewing on the white sneakers he'd purchased specifically to accent his jumpsuit. Rick groaned, knowing it would be a long day.

{Divider}

One by one, the owners approached Rick, giving him their introductory piece and detailing each dog's temperament until he was left with a bushel of barking, ravenous canines.

"Alright, guys," Rick announced only to interrupted by a Chihuahua known as 'Chloe' pawing at his leg, "and girls," he added out of courtesy for the little lady.

"Let's head out. Please remain in an orderly fashion as we enter the park, okay?" He looked around at the pack, accounting for everyone before taking a step in the park's direction. Suddenly, the dogs all took off at once, leaving Rick to play catch up as he gripped their leashes for dear life.

{Divider}

 _Faster and faster  
I should run_

Michonne exhaled between the scraping beat of her sneakers against the concrete – the music from her earbuds blasting loud enough for any passerby to hear. Usually she would listen at a safe, moderate volume without the potential of inflicting any auditory damage, but today she needed the driving bass to exorcise the dissonance in her head. The past few weeks had been miserable. Mike seemed to become increasingly ill-tempered with Michonne in ways she'd never seen before, and last night his impudence rescinded in what seemed to be a semblance of abuse..? Possibly - dare she say, rape? Michonne shook the thought from her head. No. Mike wasn't that kind of guy. It was a simple miscommunication. He figured she was in the mood and accidentally took her protest as kinky banter, right? Right. Women like Michonne don't get raped, especially not by their model husbands. She was proud of Mike.

 **** _ **Faster and faster  
From your arms**_

And yet she felt the steady thump in her chest begin to palpitate as her breaths drew shorter. She could still feel him inside her, penetrating her vulnerable insides like an unforgiving dagger, twisting, and forcing the visceral juices to spill out against her will. She shut her eyes in an attempt to wish the imagery away from the confines of her eyelids, but they only became more vivid.

 _ **I'm running, I'm running, running, running  
I'm shaking like a schizo, shaking like a schizo**_

She clenched her jaw as her legs became numb, carrying her faster with the bombastic rhythm. Her body ached as the bruises along her pelvis exhibited a dull burn. Michonne felt like an animal as anxiety ravaged her body, just as Mike had done the night before.

 _ **You can't zap down all my good times  
I know right from wrong  
**_ _ **Kissing loving's feeling good  
And not this feeling down  
**_ _ **You hide your chainsaw deep in kisses  
That don't make it quiet**_ _ **  
You got me running, muttering, screaming, each and every night**_

"Ma'am, look out!" A distant voice suddenly pulled her from her thoughts but not soon enough as she felt her body collide with another. She found herself falling forward, but there was no impact as strong hands supported her waist, the man beneath her cushioned her fall. She opened her eyes to see the silhouettes of dogs scattering in all directions.

"Rick?" she groaned, reaching up to rub her forehead, her eyelashes fluttering as the man's features came into focus.

"Michonne," her name tugged at the corners of his lips, "Fancy seeing you here. Shouldn't you be lawyerin' or somethin'?"

She let out a sigh, shaking her head at the use of the verb 'lawyering ' as well as the migraine she felt coming on. She slowly sat up, her legs straddling Rick's hips as she sat back on his pelvis. Rick frowned slightly at the loss of close proximity, but hell, he sure did enjoy the frontal view of Michonne in her sports bra. However what he did mind was the pressure her backside put on his dick.

Michonne couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the way Rick's eyesbrows perked up as he tried not to check her out, occasionally looking off into the empty space on either side of her.

"Well, if you must know, it's my day off," she stated plainly as she reached up to pull her hair back into a ponytail before climbing off of Rick. The new angle allowed her to take in his rather _interesting_ choice of attire.

"What's with the get-up?"

Rick sneered at the mention of his uniform as he stood up himself, brushing off any leftover gravel.

"Well, if you must know, this happens to be my new work uniform," he stated matter of factly, raising his chin slightly as if to assert his pride.

"Uh huh," Michonne snorted, placing her hands on her hips, "And what occupation pray tell, has you running around the park looking like a twizzler?"

"Well excuse me for not dressing like a librarian in a boring old suit," Rick retorted sarcastically.

"Oh, so I dress like a librarian? Please, I couldn't afford to shop at The Limited with a librarian's salary. Olivia Pope collection. Read it and weep."

"You sure are full of it," Rick chuckled incredulously. Michonne always had something to say.

"Brilliant taste?"

"More like hot air."

"Well in that case, I'll take my fashion sense and hot air elsewhere," she dismissed before starting up her light jog.

"Wait!" Rick found himself calling after her on impulse, not really sure of where he wanted the conversation to go.

Michonne ceased her forward motion, looking over her shoulder as she ran in place.

"Yes, Mr. Grimes?"

'So we're back to square one' Rick sighed internally.

"What are you doin' tonight?"

"I don't have anything penciled in for this evening. Need I remind you it is my day off." Michonne rolled her eyes, annoyed with the redundancy of their conversation.

"Well now you do. Eight o'clock at Canoe."

Michonne knit her eyebrows in confusion at the gesture.

"Mr. Grimes, are you asking me out on a date?"

"Not with that attitude. I want to talk about the case – about Carl."

'Right' she mentally chided, 'You're engaged, Mich'. A sheepish expression graced her features.

"Oh – yeah. We'll see. I'll call you. You don't call me," she dismissed as a meager attempt to reestablish some sense of control before taking off again.

Rick just stood bemused as he watched the feisty attorney disappear into distance. She was dressed sparsely for the cool, Georgian winter. He couldn't help but wonder how her fiancé fared with her on a regular basis. He smiled to himself as his mind drifted to thoughts of what it might be like to see Michonne in an unguarded moment – in her natural habitat so to speak. She sure was a handful, just as he imagined her backside might be if he ever had the opportunity to touch it. Rick bit his lip as he indulged in sweet reverie of her thickness until he was rudely awoken by a warm liquid sensation bleeding through his pant leg, only to find the german shepard with her leg in the air when he looked down.

"Lucy!"


	8. Chapter 8: Dinner Plans

Rick eyed himself in the mirror as he carefully edged the razor along his jawline. Typically, he wasn't one to shave more than twice a week, but he wanted to look sharp for his date with Michonne. Well, it wasn't exactly a date. It was more of a business meeting of sorts - a professional rendezvous between two adults. After all, Rick hadn't failed to take note of the diamond Michonne wore on her finger or the cracked picture of a prospective suitor sitting on her desk. For a woman who was engaged, Rick found Michonne to be rather, well, disengaged. She seemed to fall open to him just as he did to her but would tense and retract her sentiments of affection just moments later. He sensed something sincere about the energy between them and he knew she did too, but getting her to admit it, he knew, would be an immense feat. Their interactions were never quite orthodox, but something about their last chance encounter was particularly off. He'd manage to catch a glimpse of her face before she ran into him, and her visage reflected a look of sheer terror as if she was running from something - maybe someone.

Ricked flinched as his phone buzzed against the porcelain countertop, accidentally shaving off a piece of skin.

"Schh," he bit back the urge to curse as he examined the small laceration before swiping away the blood with his thumb. He quickly picked up his phone, knowing that it would probably be Michonne calling to confirm their dinner plans.

"Yello," Ricked answered.

"You underhanded son of a bitch."

"Lori?"

"Don't play innocent with me Rick. I just got a call from from your lawyer."

"Hold on a minute, woman. I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I'll see your ass in court. Next time, keep your bitch on a leash," she snapped, before hearing a click that signaled the end of the call.

And just like that Rick was left dumbfounded, his mouth hanging agape as he stared at his phone. He hadn't addressed the custody issue with Michonne, nor did he approve any course of action. Then again, it wouldn't be surprising if she'd gone ahead and worked some of her magic when he wasn't looking. Whatever transgression that occurred between the two women must have been pretty potent to get Lori so riled up. At this point, Rick really needed to talk to Michonne, and he was done waiting around for her call. It seemed she'd been busy on the phone herself. It was time to take initiative.

{Divider}

Michonne couldn't help but grin as she secured her diamond earring. When she was finished, she smoothed her hands along the length the elegant garment, admiring how well it showed off her legs in the mirror. A voice in the back of her mind thought Rick might appreciate it too. She'd caught him staring more than once, and while their meeting was a matter of business, Michonne figured she might as well throw in a little pleasure. Admittedly, she was feeling particularly audacious after the conversation she had with Rick's ex wife.

She found herself grinding her teeth at the first mention of Lori taking away Rick's children. It was obvious, even from an outside perspective looking in, that Rick is a devoted father. Michonne could see it in his eyes when he talked about his youngest and how attentive he was to his eldest. Everytime she'd called to update him on her investigation, he was more often than not at the hospital visiting Carl. While Michonne remained averse to any conversation about children, she found herself enthralled in imagery her client often described: changing diapers, staying up late to wrap Christmas presents, setting the fire alarm off after making too many pancakes, long summer road trips, getting lost in Disney World, busy Monday mornings, and lazy Sunday afternoons. Sometimes she wondered what that might be like: having a family of her own. She knew Mike wanted a son, but she'd expressed in previous conversations that she wasn't ready for that. With the way things were going between them, she felt she might never be. Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted when she heard a pounding at the door. She knit her eyebrows in confusion as she glanced toward the staircase, listening in for another knock in the case that she'd just imagined it. There it was again.

"Coming," she called, more so for herself than the person on the other side of the door. Her delicate soles lightly padded down the stairs as she tilted her head to the side, trying to see past the textured glass on either side of the front door. She swept across the cream tile and pressed her body up against the wood paneling, her breath hitching when she saw who she least expected.

"Rick," It was more of question than a greeting when she opened the door. The visitor in question didn't waste any time backing her inside, the sheer weight of his presence pinning a semi-startled Michonne up against the coat closet. Rick found himself pleasantly surprised as he took in her body language: her hands behind her back, no doubt fiddling with the doorknob like a guilty child, one leg crossed behind the other, the demure expression of bewilderment painted across her strong features. Here he'd barged in on her, tongue armed with a formidable scolding, and yet he'd become arrested in her gaze. He dropped his head in surrender, consequently licking his lips as they'd gone dry in the silence.

"Listen, we need to talk," he attempted to be firm as he flicked his subdued gaze up to meet hers.

Her lips parted as she stared back at him, reading his features as a means of anticipation, but the primal glaze in those sapphire gems denoted that he was guilty too.

"I'm listening."

In other words, your move. Rick exhaled, making sure to think before he spoke.

"Look, I don't appreciate you calling my wife-"

"Your ex-wife," she corrected.

"Yes, my ex-wife, Michonne. But she's a person just the same and deserves a certain level of respect, even after all o'this."

"Right, she's a person just like you and me, definitely not the cold hearted who took advantage of your emotional state while you were concussed."

"Hey, you're crossin' a line here," Rick almost grunted. Why was this escalating so quickly?

"That's what you're paying me for, isn't it?" She crossed her 't' with a lick of venom, a voice in the back of her mind telling her to calm down. Why was she getting so defensive? Nonetheless, she was obligated to finish what she'd started.

"Oh wait, that's right. You're not paying me. This is all for you. I called her for you, Rick."

"Really? Because I think you did it to spite her. We could have gone about this whole thang the traditional way, but you just had to feed that massive ego of yours."

"Hah, you're rich," she spat. She had better things to do than play detective for a man who thinks so little of her efforts to accuse her of acting out of spite.

He cocked an eyebrow, his hands placed firmly on his hips as he spoke.

"Oh, you think I'm jokin'. You're not angry, Michonne? Because I see you grindin' your teeth every time I talk about 'er."

"I don't have time for this," she retorted before moving to push past him. He gently but firmly caught her arm.

"Let me guess, you have a prior _engagement_? Or maybe you forgot all about our date."

That was the last straw. She wrenched herself away from him faster than he could blink, her tight frame visibly seething with rage as she gripped his shirt, Rick instinctively drawing nearer.

"What makes you think I care about you so much?"

Rick just blinked as his eyes fell on her luscious lips. God, she was so fucking beautiful. In the short span of time they'd known each other, she'd evoked sides of himself he'd never seen before. It was probably because she was so dynamic, and he naturally sought to complement her every hue of expression. He could tell by the look in her eye that she could beat the smirk right off of him, but he couldn't stop smiling despite the tremors in his batcage of a chest.

"Well," his voice was just above a whisper, a private sentiment for the two of them to share, "You haven't kicked me out yet."

At that moment, every muscle in her body tensed, her grip tightening on, and consequently wrinkling his shirt. And then it was gone. Just like that. She stared back at him blankly in utter disbelief. But when he saw the corner of her lip twitch, Rick knew what was coming next. A reluctant smiled bloomed on those gorgeous lips accompanied by a ... giggle? He'd never imagined that the oh so serious Michonne was capable of uttering a sound fit for a school girl. He indulged in it no less. It was warm, hopeful, and accompanied by the cutest little nose wrinkle, and knowing that he'd been the one to elicit such adorable laughter only caused him to smile wider.

"You are just something else," she sighed, exasperated as her fist turned into an open palm on his chest.

"Somethin' good I hope, although I could say the same thang about you, Mich," the nickname had slipped. He meant to say 'Miss' followed by her last name, but it just kind of got cut off. Or at least that's how he would explain it if she called him out on it, but the question never came.

In the midst of their laughter, a sound far more euphonious than the click of a lock, they failed to notice Mike entering the residence until he slammed the door behind him, forcing both of them to avert their attention.

Safe to say Mike was less than amused when he discovered his soon to be wife chumming it up with a complete stranger in front of the coat closet. Caught off guard, Michonne pulled her gaze from her date and swept over to Mike.

"Hey, honey! Let me take your coat.." she trailed off, peeling the coat off of his stiff form. Rick fell silent as he recognized the man from the photo on Michonne's desk. The whole interaction felt unnatural. Rick attempted to put on a happy face however was met will cold daggers staring back at him. Mike was not pleased.

"Good evening," Mike nodded in Rick's direction, feigning friendliness, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

Rick opened his mouth to speak when Michonne interrupted. He found himself gritting his teeth at watching her wrap an arm around his shoulder.

"This is officer Rick Grimes. He's the new county sheriff. I wanted to make his acquaintance as we'll be working together in the near future."

Michonne shifted her eyes at Rick, urging him to shake Mike's hand with a nod.

"Officer Rick Grimes at your service. Pleasure to meet ya, sir," Rick greeted, offering a hand which was consequently met by a firm grip.

"Pleasure indeed," Mike commented facetiously, "Mike."

An awkward silence ensued as Mike's subtle gaze threatened the sanctity of Rick's mind. Guilt glinted on the back of clear ocean waves as he saw his gestures for what they really were. He'd been flirting with a practically married woman, but Mike accepted the title for now.

"Will officer Grimes be staying for dinner?" Queried Mike, his tone inviting while inwardly cringing at the thought. Rick shifted his eyes back over to Michonne, curious as to how she would navigated their predicament..

"Actually, we're heading back to the station for a meeting on Reed. I'm trying to work out a deal," Michonne sighed at the faux chore.

"Well let me give you two a ride," Mike offered. He cocked a brow, looking his fiancee up and down. He knew damn well Michonne wasn't going to the station wearing _that_.

"Thank you kindly, but I've got the squad car out back," Rick quipped, attempting to play along.

"Really? All I saw was an old pick-up truck," retaliated Mike.

"It's for undercover work," Rick didn't miss a beat, but the cough was rather telling.

'Smooth' Michonne thought, rolling her eyes at Rick's cover up.

" _Anyway_ ," she interjected before Mike could call bullshit on Rick's excuse, "I'll see you later, okay? Ten at the latest. Dinner's on the stove," she bid before pecking him on the cheek and disappearing out the door, leaving Rick and Mike in the empty foyer.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, _sheriff_ ," Mike yawned, a smirk settling in on his lips. Michonne would pay for her lies later.

" Likewise," Rick nodded, narrowing his gaze at the jaunty shadow of a man. He didn't trust him in the slightest - especially not with the flighty attorney he was falling hard for.

{Divider}

"So…" Rick trailed off as he shifted his gaze to the driver's seat. Somehow Michonne had ended up driving _his_ pick-up truck.

"So..?" She posed awkwardly. They'd been sitting in silence for the last fifteen minutes, and clearly Rick was beginning to break a sweat. He had no idea where they were heading seeing as though the restaurant was in the opposite direction, but that was the least of Rick's concern. The tempest in his stomach churned with jealousy as he recalled Michonne's affectionate gestures toward her boyfriend. What did she see in a guy like that anyway? Who was he kidding? Mike was mature and sophisticated just like Michonne. They were a match made in heaven if he ever saw one. As for his relationship with Michonne, it was strictly professional.

"How long have you two known each other?"

Bold.

"We've been friends since college. We dated for a while when I was in grad school, but I cut it off. A few years later, we reconnected."

Michonne stared straight ahead as she answered, expressionless.

"Oh."

A few more minutes passed in silence.

"Mind if I ask where we're goin'?"

"The police station," she murmured before making a hard left.

He turned to face her, puzzled. She already knew what he was going to ask.

"Wh-" he was cut off when she slammed the brakes, the car halting to a stop in the station parking lot. She kept her hands on the wheel as she turned to face him.

"I'm a lot of things you don't understand yet, Rick. One thing I'm not, however, is a liar, and I'm not going to let you turn me into one."

"I don't exactly follow."

"Congratulations on your new position as the county sheriff. We're here to pick up your badge."

She reached over to open the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait, I already have a job. You can't just up and change my occupation for your convenience."

"It's convenient for you too. I have connections, and you need a _real_ job. Mike doesn't buy an ounce of what we're selling."

"Why not just tell 'im the truth?"

The truth being that Rick was her client, not that they were going on a date. She closed her eyes and sat back in the driver's seat, resting a hand on her forehead.

"It's complicated."

"I can see that," Rick said, frowning at her distress, "Look, I'm goin' to go along with whatever you think is best, no questions asked."

His words didn't seem to have much of an effect, so he decided to take a risk, reaching over to gently rub her leg in reassurance. She looked over at him, a small smile gracing her burdened lips.

"Hey," he let the warm sentiment dissolve on his tongue, "I appreciate what you're doing for me here. I know I don't know a whole lot about you, but we're friends in my book. How we play this game is up to you. Either way, I trust your judgement."

"Thank you," she whispered.

{Divider}

It was a quarter to nine by the time they'd arrived at Canoe. Michonne, already being familiar with the menu, quickly made her order while Rick still mulled over the seasonal catches. She leaned against her palm as she peered over the menu to get a glimpse of Rick's decision making face.

"I'd say go with the New Orleans tilapia - you know, if you happened to ask for my opinion," she offered with a smirk.

"Hm? How did you know that was one of my choices?" Rick asked, putting down to menu and folding his hands.

"It's the most popular seafood dish and for a good reason too." she chuckled before taking sip of her martini.

"You come here often?" Rick snickered.

"Enough to know what I want for dessert," she mused absently, a flicker of mischief in her pupils momentary enough to catch Rick's attention.

"What's that?"

Rick had yet to decide on his main entree, but he knew he was already in the mood for chocolate.

"Tiramisu. I love the taste of rum," she marveled, inadvertently licking her lips, "It complements the light whip cream so well…"

Rick wanted to pay attention to what Michonne was saying about desserts. He really did, but he found his gaze slipping from her eyes to her lips down to her chest. Her dress was strapless, which showed off her shoulders well. Rick couldn't help but wonder if she'd bother to wear a bra underneath the slim fitting garment given that he could see the faint outline of her nipples beneath the white fabric.

"On another note, we should probably discuss what he came here for," the juxtaposition of frivolous to serious subject matter brought him back to reality as she pulled out her briefcase.

"Last time we talked, I told you there were no cameras at the intersection. Luckily for us, I'd done a little digging on some of the nearby residents and found that John Markovich, a local neighborhood watch enthusiast has a porch cam installed and happened to catch the entire thing on video."

"W-we can identify the driver then," Rick queried hopefully.

"Not yet, but soon," Michonne assauged, "The camera quality isn't the greatest and only a small portion of the vehicle is visible, but I had the footage sent over to a friend of mine. He'll increase the resolution and then we'll be able to run the license plate, i.d the driver, and get Carl the care he needs."

A wave a relief washed over Rick upon hearing the good news. He was rendered speechless as tears of joy began to gather in the corners of his eyes.

"Michonne," his voice caught in his throat as he couldn't even begin to thank her enough, "I don't know what I - what _we_ would have done without you."

"S'all in a day's work. Don't worry about it," she said humbly.

"You're too modest. You didn't have to do any of this."

And he was right. Michonne only worked on major cases when big money or reputations were at stake.

"It was the good Samaritan in me. There was a child's life at stake."

That was a good enough reason she was sure. It was the perfect formula to warrant her help. And yet, she couldn't help but feel the sum of her efforts was greater than its constituents.

"That's why you're workin' for big wigs, huh?" Rick joked. He was being playful but it rubbed her the wrong way. She wanted to pipe up and say she was working for herself, but the truth was that she only catered to elites.

Rick knew her better than most. She wouldn't have. As shameful as it was to admit, she'd always felt civil cases were beneath her, and she'd turn down desperate families in the past - a deeply rooted guilt she still wrestled with to this day.

"I don't know, Rick," she sighed inconclusively, leaning back in her chair, "Maybe it was something else."

Just as the words left her, the waiter returned to take Rick's order. She suddenly felt weak, excusing herself to the ladies' room.

Michonne stood in front of the sink, lightly splashing some cold water on her face and wiping it away, careful not to smudge her makeup. Despite the migraine she felt coming on, the water made her feel slightly less lightheaded.

"Time to lay off the alcohol," she sighed as she walked through the swinging door.

As she exited the restroom, she felt a buzzing against her thigh. Reaching just above the hem line of her dress, she grabbed phone from her thigh strap and answered.

"What's up, Len?"

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

She had to do a double take at the caller i.d. upon receiving the strange question.

"Fine..? Is everything alright on your end?"

"Well, yeah. Honestly, I thought you'd call earlier."

Rick glanced over in her direction and waved, pouting slightly when he was she was on the phone. She felt her cheeks grow warm, holding up an index finger.

'One second' she mouthed to signal that the conversation was almost over.

"Hey, can we hurry this up? I'm a little busy."

"Okay, okay. Just tell me what our next move is."

"Our next move? Mind filling me in on what we're talking about first?"

"Reed? Mich, seriously, get your head in the game."

She rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe he was wasting her time with this.

"I told you I was working on it!" She scolded under her breath as a waitress passed by.

"Yeah, you said that when your client was still alive."

"Wait, what?"

"You can't be serious," he sighed in disbelief.

"What's going on?"

"Reed is dead, Mich. Someone killed him."


	9. Chapter 9: Blueberry Pancakes

Michonne knew she should say something, but she couldn't force any sound to come out. Instead she hung up and made a B line back to the table.

"Hey, everythang okay?" asked Rick, a look of concern plaguing his handsome features as he scanned her resigned gestures.

"I need to go home," she stated coldly, her gaze detached as it lingered on the tile. How could she have been so irresponsible? She'd been so wrapped up in Rick's case that she failed to keep track of what was going on with Reed. There was that, and she was stalling because she needed help goddamnit.

"Sure, yeah," his voice was just above a whisper, sensing how fragile she was despite the iron cast she'd fastened to her cheekbones.

He carefully swept between the crowded bar over to a passing waitress asking for the check and some boxes. His long strides carried him quickly back to their table, but much like an apparition, Michonne had evaporated into the night, leaving her half of the check and a note on the table in her wake.

'Thanks for dinner," Rick sighed as he read the bloody script, the ink of her red pen seeping through the delicate tissue, "Your shift starts at 5."

He let out a groan as his arm fell to his side, the napkin slipping from his fingertips and fluttering to the ground in slow motion, the lethargy of freshly deposited disappointment weighing him down.

{Divider}

"Mayor Kasim Reed's funeral is scheduled for the 23rd. Tensions are high among authorities as they struggle to find the culprit. Chief of police, Abraham Ford suggests that the murders of Reed and his wife are related. More on this story tonight on WBC-" Click.

That was all the evidence Mike needed to bring down the gavel on his fiancée.

"Working out a deal," he sneered, swishing around the ice cubes in his whiskey, "You can do better than that, sweetheart."

{Divider}

Michonne tightened her grip on her trench coat as she trudged her way through the cold midnight air. Each succession of powerful gusts left her weaker, but she remained hardened as she wouldn't be out there much longer. Her body tensed, a vibration traveling up the length of her thigh. Without bothering to check, she knew it was Rick. He wanted answers, maybe a goodbye - all of which she couldn't give him. The fact of the matter was that she'd done her job, and now she didn't owe him a damn thing. Even so, something about their interactions had left a knot in her stomach, which resulted in her walking on the side of the highway at one in the morning.

"Aye ma, you looking for a good time?"

Michonne couldn't help but roll her eyes at the familiar voice, knowing that the heckler could be none other than the incomparable Glenn Rhee.

"Took you long enough," she yawned, a tired smile gracing her lips as she walked around to the passenger seat.

"To my credit, I'm not used to picking you up in the middle of the highway." She simply hummed in response, ignoring his inquisitive glance.

"Nice threads by the way," he added, hoping to pick up the conversation's momentum.

"Thanks," she murmured, arching her back in an attempt to get comfortable beneath the restrictive seatbelt. Silence settled in once again, but he could tell something was bothering her.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope. How's the wife?"

"Very, very pregnant."

She shifted a knowing glance his way.

"Well, that's what you get when you pour the batter. You just might end up with pancakes," she joled, her head lolling back against the headrest.

"I'm nervous - but it's the good kind of nervous. Like the kind you get before going to a party or seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time."

"You're such a sap," she laughed, lightly hitting his shoulder.

"Can't help it. It's Maggie." His eyes twinkled at the mention of her name. Michonne was at a loss for words. If only she could talk about Mike the same way. Her mother always pitied women who couldn't be proud of their men.

"It's sweet," Michonne whispered before setting her eyes upon the passing scenes of the city, the adjective dissolving in the air as it conjured thoughts of Rick. He was probably in bed by now, but she secretly hoped he was awake thinking of her too. If she was being completely honest, she had been enjoying the rhythm of the evening a little more than fidelity would allow. But alas, none of this would matter in the morning as she'd already made her decision to cut things off.

"And here we are," Glenn's voice pervaded her thoughts as they pulled up to her parents' gaudy estate. She looked through the window, not wanting to get out of the car.

"Home sweet home," she sighed as she opened the car door, nodding as a means of saying goodbye. It was informal, maybe a little understated, but it was them. Glenn waited patiently for her to step inside the residence before driving off.

"Goodnight, Michonne," he said aloud as he watched her disappear inside. He knew her long enough to know she rarely wore her heart on her sleeve. Even so, there was a war going on beneath the surface. He only hoped that sleep would supply her some desperately needed resolve.

{Divider}

A cacophonous squawk erupted from the small alarm clock on the nightstand, forcing a jolt through Rick's spine as he sat up almost instinctively. The rise and fall of his chest was indicative of night terrors, most of which were about Carl's deteriorating state. He blinked slowly, wishing away the cloud of haze. He shifted his gaze over to the clock. 4:01 AM - time to get ready for work. Somehow his new job had stuck around longer than Michonne; the job he never asked for. As his mind merged back into reality and sombre ecru walls came into focus, a dull rapping permeated his thoughts. Reluctantly, he sacrificed the warmth of his bed to answer the door, groaning as the weight of the previous evening was still apparent in the form of an uninvited ache. Rick held fast to the wall as he stumbled around in the darkness of his home, freezing as he heard a voice on the other side of the door.

"Rick? Please, open up – it's Lori!"

Lori? What could she possibly want with him at this hour, and why not just call?

{Divider}

"Michonne," Noah whispered, gently nudging his sister's shoulder.

"Wakey, wakey, lemon cakey," he teased again, frowning as she merely turned on her side.

"Michooonnne, wake uuuupp," he whined, shaking her shoulder relentlessly. Still half asleep, she swatted at him aimlessly, mumbling a warning and a few curses into the pillow.

"Breakfast's on the table. Mom made your favorite," he chirped before skipping out of the room to take his place at the table.

She let out a soft whimper as she slowly rose from the bed. Her sleepy lids fluttered open, revealing the rose colored walls of her bedroom, just as she'd left it since she went away for college. Suddenly her senses were indoctrinated by the sweet smell of blueberry pancakes wafting through the doorway.

"Mmm," she hummed in delight as she dipped her toes into her house slippers.

In her peripheral view, she saw that her Galaxy note was blinking, but she decided to leave it. Work could wait, just for today.

{Divider}

"No elbows on the table," Rochelle admonished, as she saw her daughter slumped over and about to drift off.

"Sorry mom," Michonne yawned, straightening up as her mom plopped two thick blueberry pancakes on her plate. So much for her diet.

"So mom, guess what?" Noah asked, already stuffing his face with the sugary ovals.

"What is it baby - and chew with your mouth closed, please," his mother chastised, rolling her eyes at her lovable yet mildly mannered son.

"The-," the words came out muffled as he was still chewing before his mom shot him a glare. He finally finished with a nod as a means of saying 'message received' before continuing again, " Final GPA calculations are in, and I'm valedictorian!"

"Oh well isn't that just spectacular!" Rochelle sang.

"Spectacular but not surprising. I expected no less from a child of mine," her husband beamed triumphantly.

Noah just smiled at their approval, the same dorky, boyish smile he's had since he was a toddler; the smile Michonne loved. What she hated, however, was how much pressure her parents put on him to be perfect, just as they'd done to her. It starts out innocently, enrolling you in copious early childhood education programs, then forcing you into advanced placement seminars at the first mention of your edge on the material from your elementary school teachers. Then it turns into a 97 on a test being less than satisfactory, because you are your grade, and you're doing your parents and yourself an absolute disservice to take a break from studying to maybe go out with friends or read a book whose pages aren't embedded in the curriculum. You finally get the 100, and suddenly you're whole. But now you have to maintain it, otherwise you threaten your value. You keep your eyes on the books, mind on your future, and nevermind your heart, pity that useless organ. Your blood is frozen in the ink on your diploma while God moves through your veins.

"Honey..? Hello?"

The voice of her mother brought her back to reality only to find herself subject to a table full of expectant stares.

"Uh.. yes?" She answered, in hopes her response would satisfy their hungry looks.

"Of course she's proud of her brother. He's growing up to be just like our Michy!" Rochelle cheered as she poured syrup onto her stack of pancakes.

Michonne cringed at the nickname, setting her eyes upon her younger brother who was happily guzzling down a glass of orange juice. Maybe things would be different for Noah. He seemed happy now at least. Maybe he would go out into the world and be able to function properly - make friends and be himself, take it easy once in a while. But she was happy too when she was seventeen, when she was still perfect.

"Yeah, well, I had a good example," Noah added, shooting his sister a knowing glance, however his smile faded when he saw her troubled expression. She looked as though she could vomit at any moment.

"You'll have to excuse me. I have an important call coming in," she pardoned before standing and making her way back upstairs.

She quickly closed the door behind her before sitting down on the bed. She needed to breathe. Why couldn't she just be happy for Noah? He's a bright kid. He'll be fine. Taking a few deep breaths, she managed to clear her mind. Just as she felt she was ready to go back downstairs, the blue light on her phone caught her eye. She swiped it up from her bedside and pulled down the notification tab. Lenny sent the footage last night, and it had finally finished downloading. She opened up the file to make sure it could be opened given the unconventional script, and to her surprise, it loaded with ease. There it was: the accident caught on camera. There was the young man who Michonne could now identify as Carl crossing the road, and there was the culprit contained within the black mustang that looked ridiculously similar to the one Michonne bought Mike for Christmas. There was Carl's mangled body, lying lifeless in the street as the car drove away, and there was the license plate that belonged to Michonne's soon to be husband.


	10. Chapter 10: Loyalty

The front door slammed behind her, the vacuumed wind grasping at her woven tendrils as if to say, "You are not welcome here." It all made sense now: Noah cleaning the car, Mike's strange behavior - there was only one thing left to do.

Mike always had a way of making Michonne feel like a stranger in her own home, even now, as she stalked the halls unaccompanied. She measured her breaths in uneven strides as she made her way to their shared bedroom. His scent burned heavily in her nostrils like ammonia, nearly making her gag as she threw open her closet and proceeded to clear out every last thread of fabric. Moving with autonomous sobriety, she unzipped her valise, shoving her clothing inside with little care for their branded origins. A buzzing in her pocket sent a chill through her spine. Fishing it out, she glanced at the number: _unknown_.

"Hello," she answered, the empty cadence of professionalism taking priority over the warmth of a greeting.

"Isn't it funny how things can change in a matter of 24 hours?" asked an unfamiliar voice on the other end.

"Who is this," her tone was barely audible, as if she'd just been put on to some sinister secret.

"You don't know? Doesn't that throw a wrench in the plot! No wonder you let me get to Reed, and all this time, I thought it was a trap - you know? Let me have the one I want before nailing me at the last second. Then again, I've been informed that you had _other plans_ that evening."

She remained silent but continued packing, knowing she couldn't waste anymore time despite her body stiffening. What seemed like minutes passed in silence as Michonne scanned the bedroom for cameras when the voice suddenly interrupted.

"I'm talking about Rick, Michonn-," the voice began before she pulled the phone from her cheek and ended the call. It immediately began to vibrate again, to which she answered immediately.

"Don't call this number again," she hissed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's going to be a negative from me."

"Eugene?"

"Affirmative. I'm calling on behalf of Sergeant Ford."

"Okay," she paced herself.

"Our new county sheriff failed to come into work today. Your friend, I presume."

"Thanks for the heads up," she conceded before hanging up again.

Abraham would have her head for this. Rick probably didn't show up, because things had gone sour the night before. His new job was merely a reminder of the chaotic evening they'd spent together. Nonetheless, it was a favor she'd bent over backwards to receive, and Rick would have to suck up his pride and play cops and robbers at least until the trial was over. He'd come to her to help restore order, and all she'd done was make life more complicated while overstepping personal boundaries. Had they not been interrupted - no, she couldn't afford to think like that right now. Her marriage was disintegrating before her and all she could focus on was Rick. He deserved so much more and all she could offer was excuses.

"Michonne," a voice called from behind, commanding her attention much like a master to his dog. She didn't dare turn to acknowledge his presence, fearing that looking him in the eye could set her off.

"Michael," she replied, the words rolling off her tongue like an empty bullet casing. She made no attempts to hide what she was doing.

"Where are you going?" He asked, his slender build crooning against the doorframe. He'd been waiting for her.

She ejected a breathy laugh as she closed her suitcase. Michonne didn't have to answer to this man, and quite frankly, she wasn't planning on it. He knew what was coming; she was attempting to leave. Slowly she stood before turning to face him. Her body remained in a state of neutrality as her senses heightened, observing his face for the last time in the sanctity of their bedroom.

"Away," she hesitated, "Just for a little while."

That was a lie - straightforward unlike the ones she usually told. Their paths merged in the doorway, their shoulders brushing precariously close as she walked past him, the sound of the suitcase rolling behind her accenting the clack of her ankle boots.

Michonne had some nerve. That was the fault in wifing a black woman; she simply didn't understand her place. It took all the self control he could muster to press crescents into his palms instead of bruising her forearm.

"So that's it." He couldn't keep from laughing in disbelief as he turned around, shifting his weight. "Seven years, Michonne - seven years - the best years of our lives flushed down the toilet because you want to fuck around at the last minute with some white boy?"

That was enough to stop her in her tracks.

"White boy?" She balked, a look of utter disgust emerging as she whipped around, an ocean of rage threatening to overflow. "That's what you think this about? Please, get a damn clue, and fuck off."

He could only watch as she disappeared down the staircase without another word, utterly helpless. He'd previously admired Michonne for her independence, but for once, he wished she would just do as she was told. But instead here he was, biting his lip hard trying not to cry out of sheer anger, standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom watching her walk away to God knows where without him. He wouldn't have it. Not from her.

"Michonne, stop," she heard his voice echo into their foyer just as her fingers ghost over the doorknob. She couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous and futile his commands were. But the hostile silence that ensued told her otherwise. Something was off, and she didn't dare make another move.

"Mike, I already told you I was finished here. Just give me some space," she stilled between clenched teeth before slowly turning around to look at him for the last time only to the find herself face to face with the barrel of a gun. She immediately froze, knowing she was too close range to run. Her grip loosened on the suitcase, allowing it to fall to the ground, the cold thud it made against the tile filling the silence between them. Slowly, Michonne managed to pull her gaze from the handgun aimed at her forehead to look into the teary eyes of her fiance. She'd never seen him like this, sobbing profusely, his face stricken with anguish, one hand in his pocket as his index finger caressed the trigger. Michonne took a deep breath, closing her eyes, knowing her life was in the balance. There was no doubt in her mind that Mike would kill her before letting her go.

"Mike, listen to me," she began, her voice placid and quiet, You don't have to do thi-"

"Shut up! Don't you ever stop talking?" he squawked, pressing the barrel into her skin. She winced but refused to avert her eyes. "Fuck, Michonne. Fucking shit! Why can't you just be obedient for _once_ in your goddamn life? I _love_ you, woman! Do you know that?"

She said nothing but stared into his dark orbs, searching for the man she once knew: a lover and a friend. Now all she saw was a void buried deep in his pupils. She prayed for him in those moments, knowing that it wasn't her who most needed saving.

He hated when she did that, saw right through him without saying a word. Michonne was the type of woman who would look you in the eye during sex, the dark gleam beneath those hooded lids telling you exactly where you belonged in the universe. She had such a confidence about her - a sense of certainty he'd grown to love over the course of several years but now resented her for.

"Mik-"

"I asked you a question goddamnit! Answer me!" he thundered, his voice cracking as another onslaught of tears began flooding his vision.

"Yes!" It came out more forcefully than she anticipated, sounding more like a plea than an affirmation. "I know you love me," she whispered, measuring out two deep breaths before continuing, "And I need you to know how much I love you."

His eyes widened at her statement, clearly not expecting a mutual proclamation of affection.

"Y-you mean… you still love me..?" he sniffled, reminding her more of a small child now than a murderer.

"Well, of course I do. You're only my best friend and the man I've devoted my life to," she assuaged, her volume growing as she felt she might finally be getting somewhere. "Baby, please," she beseeched, her lips stretching into a familiar grin she knew would appeal to him, "Let's work this out together." She opened her arms, hoping that he would accept her peace offering.

He took in the sight of her, the beautiful woman he'd known all his life smiling at him, ready to embrace him. He switched the safety on and lowered the weapon, eventually dropping it at his side and kicking it across the floor before bounding into the arms of his requitted lover.

Mike let out a sigh of relief as he rested his head on her shoulder, taking in her wonderful scent. "Gosh baby, it feels so good to hold you like this."

"Likewise," she hummed lowly, feeling sick in his arms.

Mike pondered could he possibly even consider ending this loyal woman who would one day be the mother of his children. She truly was perfect. His thought were suddenly interrupted with felt something cold against the back of his head. He also noticed Michonne's grip had become vice like as she began nibbling on his earlobe.

"Michonne," he croaked as he felt her hand traveling south, caressing his balls through his slacks.

"Uh-uh, my turn to speak," she chastised, biting down hard on his soft cartilage, "Let me put you on to a little secret."

"Mmmm, tell me, babe..." he moaned against her supple cheek. God, he loved it when she used that sultry voice on him.

" I know what you did."

"Oh? Is that so?" he murmured, snaking his arm around her waist to grab at her ass when he finally realized what Michonne was dragging along his spine.

"You hit that little boy, almost killed him actually," she rubbed the gun against the back of his neck as she removed the safety so he could hear the click.

"Michonne, I-"

"Shhhhh," she hushed, "Take it easy, baby. I know, I know. You were only trying to rush home for dinner with the family. After all, you were running late from fucking your secretary." She pressed another kiss to his neck, the venom dripping from her tongue as she sucked on the skin there.

"I'm sorry! For all of it really… I- I don't know what I was thinking!" He was begging now, praying she'd have mercy on him.

"Quit it, Michael. You and I both know you're not," she sneered as she wrapped her arm around his neck, the other dropping down to his hips, "But you will be."

His breath hitched both at her words and the sharpness he felt ghosting along his inner thigh. Then, the sensation suddenly evaporated, but not a moment passed before he was lurched forward, letting out a pained cry as blood dribbled from his manhood, staining his dress pants. Michonne followed up the slash with a knee to the balls before pushing him off her onto the ground. He cowered in fear as he saw the gun in her hand for the first time after it had already been acquainted with his body. Curled up in the fetal position, he blubbered for mercy.

"I'm sorry, baby.. I'm sorry.. please don't hurt me.." he sobbed as he cupped his aching groin.

"Honey, I'm not going to kill you. I need your money. Oh and Officer Grimes isn't my fucktoy. He's Carl's father - the young man you hit? With my help, they're suing your ass for all you've got, so enjoy bleeding on such an expensive floor for the last time."

"Fucking bitch.." he gasped, rolling onto his side.

Michonne simply rolled her eyes at his pathetic response before picking up her suitcase.

"One more thing: don't you dare try pulling any of that shit again," she nodded toward the gun strewn across the room, "Otherwise I'll blow your fucking brains out and let Noah make it look like an accident."


	11. Chapter 11: Incumbents

Rick looked on cautiously as Lori gently blew a plume of steam from the surface of her coffee mug, shifting the delicate foam ever so slightly.

"Thanks," she murmured before craning her neck down to take a sip.

Rick just continued to stare, allowing the sound of rain outside to fill the silence between them. Somehow she seemed so different from the woman he once knew. It turns out his failure as a husband and father wasn't her only motivation to leave. Not long after the diner relocated, she met someone, and she decided to move in with him - a fellow training to be on the force apparently. She seemed to take interest in his occupation, calling it 'chivalrous' despite the lack of nobility that characterized the local police force. Wouldn't she be thrilled to find out Rick was newly appointed county sheriff (not that he was planning on telling her). Anyway, the chemistry was amazing, the sex was explosive, and the arguments were even more so. They were a ticking time bomb, and this morning the couple's quarrel had escalated into a full on brawl: punches as well as dishes being thrown across the room, which eventually resulted in Lori's exile. By this sequence of events, she ended up on Rick's doorstep at 4 in the morning sobbing her eyes out. She'd gone ahead and gotten that haircut she always raved about on Scarlett Johansson and bleached the tips. It made her look considerably younger, yet the prominent bags under her eyes indicated otherwise. Her face had grown thin and long; the same could be said about her legs. Lori had always maintained a long, slender frame since the day they met, but now she seemed to lack even the subtlest hint of curve. She flicked her gaze up to meet his unexpectedly, and it almost made him flinch. Perhaps there was something he'd missed in those hazel eyes. It was a strange thought given how much he'd grown to love the mysterious intrigue held in Michonne's own. Nonetheless, this felt familiar, and after the month he's had, familiar might do him some good.

"So you thinkin' bout heading back up to your mom's?" Rick finally broke the silence.

"Actually," she began, shrugging the throw over her shoulder before setting down the mug, " I was hoping I could stay here..?" Her inflection told Rick she was nervous about posing the suggestion, especially after the hell she'd put him through at the hospital. She'd abandoned him when he needed her most and didn't bother to think twice about taking away Judith. He still hadn't seen his daughter in weeks, and he could slowly feel his will to go on slipping day by day.

"Lori.. I just don't think that's a good idea. With the contract and everythi-"

"Let's get rid of it."

"'Scuse me?" Rick asked, genuinely confused as to what she was implying.

"Forget the contract. Forget the divorce! Rick," she sighed, leaning forward to place her hand on his, "I was an idiot for leavin' you, but I've learned my lesson. We can be a family again. With Carl's condition and everything, we need each other now more than ever."

She squeezed his hand gently, her eyes glistening with earnest as she made her plea. Could this be true? With a simple 'yes', he could have his family back. He could be a real father again, and get a second chance to be the husband Lori deserved all along. She'd likely respect him much more now assuming he could keep his job with the police department and finally help out with the bills the way a man should. He gently massaged the back of her hand, taking in her soft likeness, a hint of a smile on her lips. This was the mother of his children; the woman he'd fallen in love with in his sophomore year - the cheerleader with the red ribbon and beautiful smile, the same smile he saw in Judy and Carl. Lori was right. They really did need each other now more than ever. There was just one problem.

"Lori, I-" Rick was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. Lori whipped around with a puzzled expression, wondering who could possibly require Rick's attention other than herself. He wasn't exactly what one would call a socialite. Another round of knocks echoed through the living room before Rick actually made a move to answer the door. He was equally as dumbfounded but honestly a little relieved to know he didn't have to have to answer Lori's question immediately. Lori shot him a glance, clearly disgruntled by the interruption, as he reached for the door knob, opening the door to find none other than a young girl with long brown hair. She looked vaguely familiar, put he couldn't place his finger on where exactly he knew her from.

"And what can I do for you today, miss?" he asked, reminding himself to smile as to not intimidate her.

"Hi, I'm one of Carl's classmates. My name's Enid, and I know it might seem strange, but I was wondering if I could get any updates on his… condition?"

The hitch in her breath told him she was nervous. Obviously she was approaching a sensitive topic with a complete stranger. She'd only managed little glimpses of Carl's parents from behind the windshield of an SUV. Rick had to keep from snorting at how robotic she sounded, as though she were reading from a script. She kept looking back at a silver SUV, which he figured likely contained her parents. Surely she'd gone some length to find his address. Nonetheless, he was moved by her concern for his son's well being.

"Sure, we can talk about it," his tone warm as he stepped onto the porch and waved to the passengers inside the SUV. "Well," Rick began, letting out a sigh. It had been a while since he'd been prompted to talk about his son's condition, "Carl's stable for now, but he's in a coma."

He began to see pools in her eyes and felt something in him threaten to break as well.

"I know it's not easy to hear," he paused, looking off into the distance," but we're working on paying for a surgery that'll help him."

"What can I do to help?" Enid asked without missing a beat despite the quiver in her voice.

"Look, dear, I really appreciate you comin' here and and everythang, but we're all feeling a little helpless these days."

"We'll figure something out, Mr. Grimes. I know we will." She forced a smile, knowing that being negative would do nothing to help Carl's situation.

"You know what? You're one hundred percent right. If you want, you can come visit him as soon as her starts getting better."

"I'd love that! Thank you!"

"No problem, kiddo. Tell your mom and pop I appreciate y'all coming by."

"Will do. Thanks again!" she exclaimed before turning on her heels and heading back to the car. Rick let out a sigh as he watched her disappear in the distance, knowing that Carl must have been well loved at school. He couldn't help but think about the possibility of his son not getting better. How would his friends take it? Suddenly he felt warm arms around his waist, the smell of Lori's sweet perfume wafting through his nose. She pressed a kiss into his shoulder, mumbling something about everything being alright. Somehow Lori's warm embrace felt much more reassuring than the prospect Michonne's footage offered, and he allowed himself to melt against her kisses.

"I missed you," her soft whisper tickled his earlobe as her tongue caressed it. She gently pushed the door closed, ignoring the fact that it didn't settle into the socket all the way as she walked him backwards toward the couch. Lori began kissing him, coaxing his mouth open with her fervent tongue before pushing him down on the couch and straddling his waist.

"I missed you too," he moaned into her mouth. His fingertips were already working at her pants, forcefully tugging them down as she lifted the hem of his shirt. He was so tired of all the bullshit. He deserved this goddamnit, but his mind wouldn't let him focus. His love for his wife wouldn't dissolve the images of Michonne that kept flashing before his eyelids, and in those moments he hated her with every fiber in his being. But he wouldn't let Michonne control him; he wouldn't let her win. Not this time.


	12. Chapter 12: Fool Me Twice

If you asked Rick Grimes to recount the last two hours, he wouldn't be able to. Trying to envision sex with his ex-wife was physically painful, and all he could see with clarity was the disgust that would likely befall Michonne's beautiful features. He tried not to blink. He just stared ahead at the faucet from the floor of his bathtub, knees pressed tightly to chest as if to keep his lungs from fluttering away with the panic attacks. He'd made a mistake. Sure, Lori was the mother of his children and the only woman he'd ever loved, but he'd also never felt lower than when he was with her. There was no doubt that she was using him, and he's just allowed himself to be played like a fool. Rick had never felt more grotesque in his entire life. So here he sat at the foot of a waterfall, seeking retribution from his showerhead. The plumes of steam that surrounded him were his only friend in those moments, fabricating the embrace he longed for - one that smelled like cocoa butter and paperwork; one that left stardust on his sleeve and his pupils glistening with expectation.

The woman lying fast asleep on his couch offered none of these things, but she did have the one quality Michonne lacked: security. One minute she was here making him feel like life could really be different, filling his head with all sorts of hope, making him feel like he might just burst into a million pieces from sheer excitement, and then she'd vanish. He was almost sure he wouldn't see her again outside of court, so why did this incident matter? Nonetheless he was mad. Not mad at Michonne like he initially thought - hell, he had pretend to be to go back to his wife. Well maybe he was upset with Michonne, but he could never hate her. The fact of the matter was that no woman had ever made him feel so alive, and he was mad at himself for messing it up somehow. Maybe he'd scared her away with the date. Maybe it was her boyfriend who called worried about her coming home late, and she left because she realized what an immoral jackass Rick was for having no regard for her standing relationship. Not that she seemed to either, but Rick figured he was projecting his feelings onto her. Everything she said, even the banter that could become downright vicious at times, sounded like sweet talk to his ears. And if he wasn't good enough for her before, he sure as hell didn't deserve her now.

Michonne's blood was pumping with adrenaline faster than she could bear, and her parents wouldn't stop blowing up her phone. But none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was getting back to Rick and letting him know the awful truth: that she'd been sleeping with a murderer all this time. In her mind, she was just as guilty for Mike's crimes for not finding them out sooner. How could she not have known;. And god, what would Rick think of her now? She didn't deserve the kindhearted man who had opened her eyes to an honest lifestyle. Sure, Rick didn't have much but he never complained and always made his loved ones a primary focus. On the other end of the spectrum, she was a corrupt, money hungry bitch who wouldn't have even bothered to take his case had it not been for some weird divine incentive that propelled her to do so. That is- if you happen to equate blue eyes and a handsome jawline to divinity. She imagined the look of utter disgust on his face every time she blinked, so she kept her eyes glued to the road. Her suitcase rocked in the backseat as she rounded the corner, still not knowing where to stay for the night. She couldn't go back to her home for the time being. Even with Mike gone, she just couldn't. That son of a bitch had her little brother cleaning up human blood from his car, the blood of an innocent boy just like Noah walking home from school. And people thought she was evil. Hah, she'd been engaged to the devil himself. Talk about a match made in heaven.

Rick would probably think she was crazy for showing up unannounced like this, but she needed to right this deeply seeded wrong, as out of character it must seem given her track record. She quickly slid into the first parking spot she found and practically sprinted up the lawn, still in her grey suit, to the front door, furrowing her brows in confusion when she found that it was already open. Was he expecting company? Just as a precaution, she knocked three times, but received no response. Her tentative fingers pressed against the door, nudging it open just enough to peek inside. All she saw was the back of his couch and a dark hallway leading to the rest of the house. She figured he was likely still home since he skipped out on work.

"Hello," she called out into his seemingly empty home.

She was answered with a soft moan and the sound of rustling coming from the couch. He probably nodded off. Stepping soft, she closed the door behind her, immediately taking note of all the family photos hung on the wall. She saw one of Carl's baby pictures on the shelf and picked it up, feeling as though she already knew him while stroking his face with her thumb. The photos were arranged in somewhat of a timeline, and she couldn't help but fawn over how two became three and three eventually became four. And now, there was just one. She mulled over that thought, not really sure how to feel about it. The pictures in her home would tell a similar story, though she hadn't reached nearly as far. Perhaps by some chance of fate, one could become two again.

That's when she saw it: a brilliant, multicolored cat statuette sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. She glided over to it without a second thought.

"Whoa," she cooed, ogling in almost child-like wonder as she traced the arch of its back. Michonne had never seen such a beauty. She had a thing for cat statues; she considered it a hobby.

"Mmm..no… Rick," mewled what Michonne now recognized as a woman's voice behind her.

Michonne felt her heart drop, not sure whether she even wanted to look. But of course she had to, and when she did, boy did she regret it. There laid Rick's ex wife sprawled out naked on the couch, haphazardly covered with a blanket. A scream nearly erupted from her throat, but her hand instinctively rushed to cover her own mouth. There was nothing Michonne hated more than feeling out of control, and in these moments, her mind couldn't seem to catch up to her heartbeat nor could her heart catch up to her lungs. There were so many emotions churning inside her, and suddenly she was fighting with the hot tears that had appeared on her face out of nowhere. She stumbled back toward the door, trying to quiet her sobs with thoughts of Noah and how happy he'd be is she hung out at home for a while. When she went to open the door; however, she found that it locked automatically. Her tears were boiling over now as she fumbled with the lock, the same way she'd imagined Rick fumbling around with Lori's zipper in a fit of passion. Michonne never felt so low, understanding now that she truly belonged nowhere. No matter how hard she tried, she would never find solace in another human being. Her nose began to run as she heard footsteps.. How humiliating. Maybe this was payback. 

"Michonne?" came Rick's baritone voice not long after.

Hearing the sound of his voice only made more tears run. He couldn't see her like this - all worked up over something that was never hers.

"It's fine, Rick, I'm leaving," she sniffled in between sobs. It was uncontrollable now. She finally managed to figure out the lock and the door opened.

"Michonne, wait!" He called after her, desperation piercing his tired cadence as he quickly followed after her.

He caught her arm in the doorway and pulled her back inside. She was fighting him with everything she had. Rick was genuinely scared she would hurt him, but he reined her in nonetheless, not wanting her to leave without an explanation.

"Michonne, please stop!" he begged as he grabbed her around the waist, forcing her to look at him.

Rick's eyes widened at the sight of her face, her cheeks fiery hot and stained with tears that had no business plaguing her beautiful features. Her eyes… they looked frightened and hurt. She looked away from him ashamed, still struggling in his grasp.

"Just let me go," she mumbled,

"Michonne, I promise you, it's not what it looks like," Rick pleaded with her calmly, not wanting to cause her anymore pain than he already had.

That made her angry. Did he think she was some kind of idiot. Maybe she'd played herself in falling in love with him, but she did earn a degree in law, and obviously had the ability to put two and two together. But she was too weak. She didn't have the emotional capital to spend on being angry with him. Her vocal chords were shot from all the crying anyway. With a pitiful look in her eyes, she met his own; they were searching.

"What does it look like, Rick?"

She wanted him to say it. If he could only say it out loud, maybe she'd get over whatever it is she felt for him. Rick fell silent. The question was inevitable, but only Michonne was bold enough to ask it like that. Now he remembered why said he hated her. The way she looked at him, it made him want to just forget everything and kiss her. Especially now more than anything, he wanted to kiss her.

"Only the biggest mistake I've ever made," he whispered, earnest gleaming in his eyes as they were fixed upon her own.

She wanted to believe his words as he began closing the distance between them, but she wouldn't be played again. Who does he think he is? He thinks he can just flash his baby blues and whisper some sweet nothings and everything is fine again? No, she wouldn't have it.

"Rick, no," she murmured helplessly, feeling his warm breath on her cheek. Clearly he had no intention of listening, because he only moved in closer. She began pushing on his chest only to find that it was bare. Somehow she hadn't noticed that he was in his towel. The cheeky Grimes smoothed a hand over hers as she pushed him away.

"Stop!" she yelled, pushing him backwards "I have to tell you something!" was all she could think to exclaim in the moment, although there were several reasons she was averse to kissing him - one of them being the naked woman on the sofa.

"It can wait I'm sure," he replied without missing a beat.

Michonne had had enough. Nothing was right about this, and Rick wasn't going to let up anytime soon. Moreover, what right did he have to overwhelm her with all of this. He was acting like a fucking dog as far she was concerned. Hell, she just wanted to get out as fast as she could.

"I said stop!" she screamed as she pushed him back with all her might before striking him across the face. That was enough for him to go silent. He reached up to touch the red mark she left on his cheek is disbelief. She was breathing heavily as she stumble backward, her eyes wide as though she didn't recognize the action as her own.

"I-I'm sorry… there's just something you _need_ to know," she pressed on.

Rick sensed the urgency in her tone and conceded to hearing her out.

"Well get on with it then," he sighed, a little miffed by the unexpected turn of events.

"What in the lord's name is going on here?"

They both whipped around to find Lori sitting up staring back at them, her eyes clouding with hostility as she began to recognize the woman standing in the doorway.


End file.
